


Helplessly Hoping

by Sleepswithvillains



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Betrayal, Body Positivity, F/M, Fanart, Femdom, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Forgiveness, Gentle femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial Agent Cameo, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jealousy, Light Bondage, Mutual Pining, NSFW Art, Plus Size Sith Warrior, Power Dynamics, Sexual Tension, Sharing Body Heat, Slow Burn, Smut, Star Wars: The Old Republic - Knights of the Fallen Empire, Teasing, Unplanned Pregnancy, plus sized oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 127,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepswithvillains/pseuds/Sleepswithvillains
Summary: Try as he might, Malavai Quinn cannot fathom this new apprentice of Darth Baras. She chooses mercy and self-control over cruelty and self-indulgence, but manages to defy the predictions of every analysis he runs. Her softness should make her incompetent, her distaste for unnecessary violence should make her weak, and her informality with her team should make her an ineffective leader. Eleanora is none of those things, and he finds himself hopelessly drawn to her.Eleanora is infatuated with her new tactician and pilot, much to his dismay. While she enjoys teasing Quinn at first, she backs off when the reality of her position of power sets in. Determined not to take advantage of him, she does her best to resist temptation--no matter how prettily he blushes.A series of storyline interludes and adaptations about my Sith Warrior and her budding relationship with Malavai Quinn. Slow burn, rated E for smut and canon-typical violence. Now well into KotFE, but playing quite loose with canon.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Female Sith Warrior
Comments: 435
Kudos: 159





	1. In which Eleanora meets Quinn

  


Eleanora watched as the dark-haired lieutenant excoriated the timid young officer, threatening both his career and life in one breath. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one side as she waited for the men to finish. An unnecessary display of machismo, she thought, as the younger officer stuttered and made excuses. She glanced over at Vette, but the Twi’lek wasn’t paying attention—her lithe body leaned against the wall as she tinkered with some small component on her blaster.

Eleanora looked back at the man who was speaking with an appraising eye. His uniform was impeccable—neatly pressed, each button and pip polished, the fabric fitted snugly to his lean form. His hair was coiffed, save for an unruly cowlick that jutted up from the front. The corner of Eleanora’s lip quirked as she imagined him standing in front of the mirror in the morning, furiously combing his hair down and finally giving up with a huff of exasperation.

“My lord.”

She snapped back to reality as the man addressed her. She approached him, arms still crossed, as he apologized for the delay and introduced himself. Quinn did not speak to or look at Vette, save a brief disinterested glance. His fellow officer, who was manning the comms, looked both women up and down and turned his face away, nose wrinkling. Ah, there it was, Eleanora thought, the typical Imperial response to a pair of alien women who were not subservient or in chains. If it wasn’t disgust, it was sexual fetishization—Eleanora tended to prefer the disgust, personally.

Unlike his compatriot, Quinn’s face was impassive, carefully schooled into an expression of bland compliance. His emotions were just as controlled—when Eleanora reached out towards him with the Force, she felt an absence rather than a presence. It made sense, she supposed, since the man had spent the better part of a decade serving Baras whenever the dark lord called upon him. Baras was a predator, there was no doubt—and any hint of weakness would attract his attention. Eleanora certainly masked her own emotions when she was around her master, so she could hardly blame the man for doing the same thing. It took a lot of discipline for a Force-blind person to hone their mind in such a way, but one glance at Malavai Quinn told Eleanora that he certainly was not lacking in that attribute.

Quinn opened the hololink to his lord. He was prim and deferential in dealing with Baras, leaving with a bow when excused. Eleanora imagined a thick curtain wrapping around her, muffling her emotions and leaving her dull and empty, except for a handful of acceptable feelings: anger and irritation. She did not disguise her dismissive hostility towards Baras—this was expected in an apprentice of her caliber and potential. If she emptied herself entirely of emotion, she would arouse his suspicion.

Baras briefed her on her next task—she was to infiltrate a defense tower and plant an explosive.

“Apprentice,” he said, “you will send your Twi’lek slave back to the ship and take Quinn with you. He knows the layout of the tower intimately and has studied its defenses. You will find his thoroughness and attention to detail invaluable.”

Eleanora inclined her head, which was about as much respect as Baras was accustomed to receiving from her. She ended the holoconnection and turned to Quinn, who had walked back into the room. He stood at attention, shoulders wide and hands clasped behind his back.

“My lord,” he said, “I am prepared to assist you on this mission. Say the word and we will depart.”

“Vette, I’ll see you back on the ship tonight,” Eleanora said. She rummaged in the small purse on her hip and tossed a credit case to Vette. “Grab something for dinner on your way, will you?” The Twi’lek gave her a mock salute and sauntered away. Eleanora caught the brief furrow of disapproval on Quinn’s brow.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

“No, my lord,” he said, a little taken aback, “I am just a little...surprised...at the demeanor of your slave.”

“Vette isn’t my slave, Lieutenant. She’s a member of my crew. You’ll find that, unlike some Sith, I don’t require abject groveling from everyone I work with.” She gave him a rather pointed look, and he stiffened.

“Understood, my lord,” he said.

“For this mission, I’d like you to focus on strategy, support, and first aid. Do you have any medical training?”

“Indeed I do, my lord. At the Academy, I studied as a combat medic. I spent the first 9 years of my career rendering aid in the field. While I have not had much opportunity to exercise those skills on Balmorra, I assure you that I have kept up with continuing education and best practices. I will not let you down,” he said earnestly.

“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll be better than Vette, anyway. She means well, but her idea of first aid is slapping a kolto patch on me and walking away,” Eleanora said with a shake of her head.

As they infiltrated the defense tower, she realized two things about Lieutenant Quinn: he was an exceptionally talented officer, and he was utterly inflexible in his Imperial orthodoxy. As she cleared the first several rooms of combat droids, she did not hold back. But when they encountered a pair of mechanics who tried to interfere with their progress, Eleanora disarmed them and left them bruised and battered—injured, but not seriously. She destroyed their communicators and left the two men tied back to back on the floor. As she walked towards the door, Quinn spoke.

“My lord? We are going to leave these enemy combatants here?”

Eleanora looked at him—it was clear that his deference to her and his Imperial ruthlessness were warring. She wondered which would emerge the victor. His blaster was in his hand, half-raised in the direction of the unarmed men.

“Yes, Lieutenant. They are no longer a threat, and killing them would serve no purpose.”

Quinn wanted to argue, she could tell—but instead he gave her a clipped, “yes, my lord” and they moved on. Deference had won, after all. She glanced at him sideways. His face was blank except for a subtle tightening of his jaw and furrow between his brows. Her eyes were drawn to the beauty marks on his left cheek—they alone, along with his unruly cowlick, were out of place in his meticulous appearance. She decided she rather liked them.

When the defense tower was destroyed—after Eleanora hit the fire alarm to allow the workers to evacuate—and Rylon’s son was neutralized, they were ready to move on to Rylon himself. Quinn began to explain the next part of their plan.

“Our final target is the Balmorran Arms Factory. The resistance forces recently captured it and made it their headquarters. An incursion into the factory will be a monumental feat. I’m excited by the prospect of you laying waste to that place,” the man said.

Eleanora couldn’t resist. “So, I excite you, do I?”

“W—well, what I meant was...when I imagine all the ways you shape the galaxy, I get very excited, yes,” he said, looking away. A bright red blush had blossomed across his cheeks and he shifted uncomfortably.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” she said, flashing him a grin. “I’m just teasing you. You fluster so easily.”

“Well, my lord, it was a surprising question. I am focused on our task,” he said, sounding just a bit defensive.

“Of course, Lieutenant. Please proceed with your briefing. I will stop teasing you. For now.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he said, clearing his throat and diving back into his tactical assessment.

It only took them an hour to make it to the heart of the Arms Factory. Quinn was continually scanning, assessing, and recommending the route with the least amount of resistance. Eleanora charged in, crushing the automated defenses and incapacitating the men. When Rylon’s guard were defeated, their target finally appeared.

Commander Rylon greeted them, and raised his blaster. He fired once at his own downed soldier—Eleanora brandished her lightsaber and leapt to intercept, but it was too late. The man crumpled to the floor and did not move.

“What did you do that for?” she said, rounding in fury on the Commander. “He had surrendered!” Both Quinn and Rylon took a step backward in the face of her anger.

“He was a liability, my lord,” Rylon said, bewildered. “If he was allowed to live, he would have revealed my true loyalty once he witnessed us speaking.”

“I could have lied to him, told him that you only turned to spare your own life. Or told him that you traded your life for his and his men’s safety. Any fiction would have served once enhanced with my will and the Force. He did not have to die.”

Rylon was baffled. “My lord, we are talking about elite Republic soldiers. They were good men, and they served me well for years. But they are enemies of the Empire.”

“And what is the Empire’s ultimate goal, Commander?” Eleanora asked.

“To—to bring the rebel worlds under the Emperor’s rule, my lord,” he said.

“And do you think it is easier to rule people you have brutalized, or people you have shown mercy to? Who is more likely to be motivated enough to rise against you? Who is more likely to ignite an organized, armed rebellion?”

Rylon’s mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Quinn was in nearly the same state.

“Nevermind,” she said, “it doesn’t matter anyway. Baras has elected to repay your years of loyal service with an ignominious death. You don’t have to die—I can disfigure this man’s body and say it was you—but you won’t be part of the Empire anymore.” She saw Quinn stiffen out of the corner of her eye—he was gaping at her.

“My lord,” Rylon said, “I am proud to die in the service of Lord Baras. And regardless, he would never be fooled by such a trick. I have known him much longer than you.”

“Well, if you are absolutely resolved to die in the service of a man who couldn't care less about you, I will oblige you,” she said, “but know that it would not be the first, second, or even third time that I’ve tricked Baras. He’s not nearly as omniscient as he thinks he is.”

Rylon watched her in silence for a moment. “You are not like any Sith I have ever met,” he finally said. “I wonder if Lord Baras knows what he has gotten himself into. The rest of my men...they live?”

Eleanora nodded, gesturing to a nearby supply closet with a melted door handle.

“Then kill me, my lord, and tell them your fiction. Tell them I bought their lives with mine. Let at least someone remember me as a dutiful officer.”

Eleanora raised her hand and broke his neck with a gesture. Rylon fell to the floor—he had died instantly. She felt Quinn’s eyes boring into her; the Lieutenant, who had not been shy about voicing his opinions thus far, had been oddly silent. It was a mistake to reveal my disloyalty to Baras, she thought, but there was no taking it back now. She had grown accustomed to working with Vette, who approved of her personal insurrection—she should have been more careful in front of this stranger.

When the men had been released and the Jedi informant apprehended, they returned to Quinn’s office in Sobrik. Baras was, as Eleanora expected, exceedingly pleased with the success of the mission. She had been liberal with her praise of the Lieutenant, who had flushed at her words and shot her a glance full of gratitude. Quinn was stunned at the promise of being able to leave Balmorra—he had the look of a man who was being liberated from a deserted island years after he gave up any hope of rescue. She offered her sincere congratulations—he may have been a little by-the-book for her taste, but there was no denying that he was a talented officer.

Eleanora rounded the corner in the hangar bay and saw Quinn standing before her ship, his hands clasped behind his back. She was surprised, but not at all displeased to see him.

“Did you miss me, Lieutenant?” she asked sweetly.

He turned around to face her, blushing a little.

“My lord,” he said, “as you know, Lord Baras gave me permission to transfer wherever I wish. I can think of no better place to serve the Empire’s interests than by your side.” He had fallen to one knee during his speech, his hand over his heart. “I can plan your battles, give you statistical analyses before each mission, treat your wounds, and pilot your ship. If you will have me.”

Eleanora smiled at him. “Quinn, I would be delighted to have an officer of your caliber on my ship. But please stand up—the only time you need to kneel is if you’re proposing to me, and I don’t think we know each other well enough for that just yet.”

His face reddened as he hastily got to his feet.

“I do have to ask you, though,” she said more seriously, “I noticed that some of my decisions troubled you—or at least surprised you. Can you serve under me when you know that I will not always do things by the book?”

“My lord,” he said, “your methods may be a little...unorthodox, but I cannot deny your effectiveness, or your prowess in battle. I believe you will do great things for the Empire, and I wish to be there.”

“Then welcome aboard, Lieutenant Quinn.”

Eleanora was pleased at this turn of events. Vette was hardly an accomplished pilot, and Eleanora herself was helpless at the helm. And while there were numerous practical reasons to be happy to have the Lieutenant on board, Eleanora was privately excited at the possibility of seeing that violent blush spread across the man’s handsome face again.


	2. In which Eleanora teases Quinn

At first, Eleanora took great pleasure in making Lieutenant Malavai Quinn blush. It was somehow too easy and an exciting challenge at once. With a few words from her, his high cheekbones would blossom into red as he shuffled his feet and looked away. Yet when she watched him out of the corner of her eye, she was sure she saw his gaze rove over her shapely figure, lingering on her breasts or the curve of her ass. Vette occasionally joined in the sport—once when Eleanora had bent down to detach a datapad from a shipping container, the red-skinned Twi’lek materialized next to Quinn and asked him if he was enjoying the view. He sputtered in outraged shock as Vette sauntered off, shooting a grin at Eleanora. 

Eleanora’s unmitigated success in flustering Quinn made her bolder, and a few weeks after he had come aboard she cornered him in the cockpit.

“Lieutenant, if you are half as good at evading obstacles as you are my advances, my ship will be in good hands indeed,” she purred, leaning towards him as he backed up against the pilot’s chair. He was older than her—sixteen years older than her, if his dossier was correct—yet his reactions to her were too intoxicating for her to stop. 

“My...my lord,” he said, gripping the seat’s headrest with one gloved hand, “I am here to do a job.” His face was flushed and he would not meet her eyes. Eleanora grinned and took a step closer, invading his personal space and watching in amusement as he tried to retreat and found that there was nowhere to go. She reached out to him with the Force and brushed his mind with a gentle, probing touch, expecting to find the usual impenetrable wall—and pulled back abruptly as she felt the man’s fear. Guilt washed over her in cold rivulets, smothering the heat that had begun to pool within her. She took a quick step backwards and watched as Quinn sagged in relief against the back of the chair.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. Of course he was afraid of her. She was his superior socially and physically—a word from her and his life would be forfeit. She could choke him to death on a whim and no one would even raise an eyebrow, let alone any questions. She wondered how many people in Quinn’s position had been coerced into sex with their Sith overlords. In truth, while Quinn did not wear a shock collar, he was just as much at her mercy as Vette had been in the beginning. Now it was Eleanora’s turn to flush, but with shame instead of embarrassment. 

“Lieutenant, I’m sorry,” she said, “I have behaved inappropriately towards you. I thought I was teasing you in good fun and I meant no harm by it, but I see that I have been making you truly uncomfortable.”

Quinn stared at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times. She pressed on.

“I didn’t consider the power imbalance between us, and that you believed that you were putting yourself at risk by refusing me. Let me reassure you—I will not make any further advances upon you. I apologize, and I hope that we can put this behind us,” she finished.

Quinn finally regained his ability to speak. “My lord,” he began, clearing his throat, “you are a lord of the Sith and the apprentice of my benefactor. You do not need to apologize to me.”

Eleanora felt her face harden. “That’s where you’re wrong, Quinn. I was abusing my authority over you for my own amusement. I am not less responsible because of my position, I am more responsible. Now, can we move forward from here? Will you accept my apology?” She held her hand out to shake, palm open.

The man looked back at her like she had two heads, but after a moment he reached out and shook her hand with his gloved one. “Apology accepted, my Lord. I must say...I have never known a Sith like you before.”

Eleanora smiled as she felt the tension in the room lessen. “I believe you said something similar when we first met. I take it as a compliment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in over a decade. This story will be a series of interludes and storyline adaptations to the Sith Warrior storyline in SWTOR. Occasionally, dialogue will be quoted or paraphrased from the game--that belongs to Bioware. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Also, I’ve delayed Quinn’s promotion intentionally--I imagine that Imperial bureaucracy may have taken that long anyway!


	3. In which Eleanora and Quinn endure the hardships of Tatooine

Eleanora shook the sand out of her cloak, then removed her outer robe and did the same with it. She glanced over her shoulder at Quinn, who was furiously typing away at his datapad—she had learned by now that there was no point in talking to him when he was doing his calculations. Quinn lived by statistics—Eleanora had grown to realize that she would receive a statistical analysis of their odds of success before any given endeavor whether she wanted one or not. She smiled to herself as she recalled the night before they left for Tatooine, when Vette had sweetly asked Quinn what he thought the odds were of him waking up to a bed full of Mandalorian ant-wasps if he were to continue leaving citations on her bunk for improper stowing of belongings.

She watched the man punch in calculation after calculation as she undid the buckles on her boot and peeled it off her sweat-soaked foot. His brow—now tanned from their week in the desert—furrowed and he tapped the datapad on his knee in irritation.

“Something bothering you, Lieutenant?” Eleanora asked as she emptied her other boot.

“Other than the sand? The abominable heat? The wind? The damned natives dogging our every move?” Quinn’s voice was savage, but when he saw Eleanora’s eyebrows shoot upwards he pulled himself together and stood at attention. “I’m sorry, my lord, I am just a bit on edge. And no matter what I do, I cannot account for the discrepancy between my calculations and the results of our missions.”

“At ease, Quinn,” Eleanora said mildly, “I feel the same way about this place. I’d rather go to Hoth any day of the week. But I’m afraid I can’t help you with your numbers problem—mathematics was never my strong suit. Besides, this oasis is by far the most hospitable place we’ve been.”

Quinn followed her example and began shaking out his outerwear and boots. Eleanora stretched, every muscle in her body aching, and began digging through her speeder pack for the biodegradable travel soap. Before deciding to spend the night here, Quinn had scanned both the water dripping down the cave walls and the oasis pool. The moving water was safe to drink, and while the pool would need to be purified before consumption, it was suitable to bathe in.

Eleanora leaned their canteens up against the cave wall to allow them to fill, and looked longingly at the pool. While they had been able to rent a room in a settlement for two nights, the other five had been spent in a tent that barely kept out the wind, let alone the sand. She had brought cleansing wipes, but after several days without a shower they were ineffective at best. 

Quinn followed her gaze to the still, dark water. “My lord, please see to your own needs first. I still have some work to do, I will bathe after you’ve finished.” He almost made it through the sentence without blushing, but Eleanora could detect a hint of pink in his tanned cheek as he turned his back on her.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she breathed as she stripped off her clothes, then her underclothes, and set an absorbent blanket on the rock by the water’s edge. She waded in with no hesitation, the cool water an instant boon to her sore and overheated body. After just a few feet she was waist-deep and she dove under, resurfacing after a moment and reaching up to remove the tie in her hair. Eleanora swam back to the pool’s edge and rose out of the water to grab the soap—she glanced at Quinn, but she knew he could be trusted not to sneak a furtive look in her direction. It would be most improper, after all.

She washed her hair first, scrubbing five days of sand and sweat out of her light grey locks, and worked her way down. Once every inch of her body was clean, she rinsed her hair again. She didn’t want to linger too much longer, since she had no doubt the Lieutenant was as desperate to get into the water as she was, but she couldn’t resist filling her lungs with air and leaning back, floating on the pool’s dark surface. She savored a few more moments, breathing deeply, then straightened, treading water. Eleanora began to swim back to their makeshift campsite when a sharp pain in her leg startled her.

“Ow, what the fuck?” she yelped, pulling hard for shore and using the Force to boost her speed. Quinn leapt to his feet in alarm and ran towards his lord before pulling up short as she reared up out of the water.

Eleanora hauled herself out and gratefully accepted the blanket the furiously blushing Quinn handed to her. The second she was covered, she surveyed her leg and found not one, but three wriggling creatures embedded in the deep blue skin of her thigh.

“Ugh,” she said, turning her face away. “Quinn, what are these? Leeches?”

Quinn knelt beside her as she perched on the rock—the parasites were on the inside of her left thigh, so she had to lower her right leg and extend the left for him to be able to see. She strategically tucked the towel around herself so as not to scandalize the man.

“If they are not leeches, they appear to be very similar. But leech bites are typically painless...one moment, my lord, I have a pair of forceps in my medkit,” Quinn said, walking over to his pack and retrieving a small metal case. He returned a few moments later with the forceps and what appeared to be his military identification card.

Despite her horror at the undulating creatures currently buried in her leg, Eleanora snorted. “Quinn, what are you going to do with that? Show the leeches your ID and tell them to fuck off?”

“My lord, this is hardly the time for jokes,” Quinn huffed, but she saw a twinkle of amusement in his blue eyes. “You can’t simply pull the creatures off, their suction is too strong and it would injure you further. Now, please try to hold still, my lord.”

Quinn settled between her legs and gripped her thigh—absurdly, Eleanora felt a thrill of excitement when she realized he had removed his gloves. His pale fingers dimpled her blue skin, and when he glanced up at her and followed her gaze, his face flushed red once more. 

“Forgive my familiarity, my lord,” he murmured as he removed the offending hand. He gripped the forceps in his left hand and his ID badge in the right. Eleanora watched as he closed the jaws of the forceps on the creature’s body as close to her skin as possible, then slid the card between her and the leech. She let out a soft hiss as Quinn gave the creature a tug—it seemed looser, because a stream of blood came running down her thigh and began dripping on the stone of the cave floor, but the thing was still attached.

Quinn surveyed the situation with a frown. “I’m sorry, my lord, that should have worked. It clearly uses more than simply suction to stay adhered. I don’t see any other way around it than to pull it off before it reattaches fully. Are you ready?”

Eleanora nodded, setting her jaw firmly. Quinn yanked the parasite off in one quick motion, and she gasped at the sharp pain, but the relief was almost immediate. The circular wound streamed blood, which was beginning to pool beneath her on the ground. Quinn set the forceps down but kept them locked on the wriggling creature, and poured clean water over the wound. He then applied kolto gel and a bandage patch.

“Do not be alarmed by the bleeding, my lord,” he said, “they secrete an anticoagulant into the wound to make feeding easier. It will pass once the creature has been detached for a few minutes.”

He held the leech up to the light and inspected it. “Ah,” Quinn said, “my lord, I understand what happened. These creatures have an extra adaptation to prevent removal. See these hooks? They were buried in your skin along with the creature’s teeth.”

“That’s fascinating, Quinn,” she said, “but can you get the other two out of me please?”

“Indeed I can, my lord.” Quinn set to work once more, but this time he pulled the leeches off at a particular angle that caused significantly less pain. Once all three wounds were attended to, Quinn straightened and stepped back from Eleanora.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said.

“Service is its own reward, my lord,” he said with a slight bow. Eleanora suppressed a wildly inappropriate joke—she had promised, and the poor man had just knelt between her legs for 15 minutes to help her, after all—and turned her gaze back to the pool. The dark, unfathomable waters seemed much more foreboding now.

Quinn stood staring at the pool and rubbing the back of his head anxiously—he seemed to have come to the same conclusion. But apart from the leeches, the time in the water had been heavenly—it seemed cruel for Quinn to be denied such a simple pleasure. An idea suddenly occurred to her.

“Quinn,” she said, “I can create a barrier with the Force to keep any unwelcome guests at bay. Have your bath, the water is wonderful.”

  


* * *

  


Quinn scrubbed his hair, his face, and his skin with fervor, desperate to be clean. He stole a glance at Eleanora, where she knelt in her sleeping shorts and sleeveless top, arms outstretched as she held her barrier in place. Her face was respectfully turned away, and he felt a surge of gratitude for his strange protector as she held the vile creatures of the water at bay.  
He washed the rest of his body with haste, not wanting to tax her strength, but she looked relaxed, not strained. It had been a long day of travel at the end of a long week of travel on this inhospitable cesspit of a planet, however, and hers was not a body accustomed to such hardships. She rarely complained, but she collapsed into exhausted sleep every night.

He stepped out of the cool water with great reluctance and pulled on his sleeping pants and shirt—his only semi-clean clothes. “I am finished, my lord,” he said when he was decent, “thank you.”

Eleanora dropped her arms and the water stirred. Quinn shivered as he imagined the leeches swarming to the spot where he had just been, attracted to his sweat and warmth. He had been able to detach himself and remain collected while aiding his lord, but the creatures disgusted him on a visceral level. He watched as the Chiss woman stood and stretched, rolling her head and neck from side to side, and then looked away as she walked back to camp.

Once their clothes were washed and hung to dry, they ate their MREs in a comfortable silence that Eleanora broke as she finished her food.

“Do you have any family, Quinn?” she asked, taking a long sip of water from her canteen.

He didn’t answer immediately, and he saw her open her mouth to speak again, to tell him he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, because that was who she was. He didn’t want to answer, but he felt like he owed her after the night’s events.

“My mother is living, yes,” he said, “and I have a sister in Imperial Intelligence.” Her red eyes watched him, inscrutable, waiting for him to continue. “My relationship with my family is...strained, my lord,” he finished, looking away and sipping from his own canteen.

When he looked back at the blue-skinned Sith apprentice, she had tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around the top of them, resting her chin pensively on her folded limbs. He could tell that she was curious and itching to know more, but she did not push him. He felt another pang of gratitude—she had every right to demand any information she wanted from him, but she consistently respected his boundaries.

Quinn guessed that the question had been prompted by thoughts of her own family.

“Do you, my lord?” he said. “Have any family,” he added when she cocked her head at him.

“Oh. Yes, I do,” she said. “No brothers or sisters, but I’m close with my parents and my aunt.” 

“I’ve always been curious about the Chiss homeworld—could you tell me about Csilla, my lord?”

She gave him a wistful half-smile. “I wish I could, Quinn, but I have never been there.”

“My lord?” he said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“I was born in a colony in the outer limits of the Ascendancy. The colony was attacked. I was one of a handful of orphaned children recovered by Imperials when they stopped by for supplies and found the colony razed.” She released her hair from its tie and began to comb the grey locks with her fingers. She always wore it up, so he was surprised to see it tumble down past her shoulders.

“You were not sent back to the Ascendancy, my lord? I can’t imagine the Chiss allowing that,” he said, unable to reign in his curiosity. He knew he had been less than forthcoming with her, so he was surprised when she continued.

“The Chiss never knew there were survivors. Still don’t, for all I know,” she said with a wry smile. “I was adopted by a retired government official and his wife. They weren’t looking to adopt—they never had children of their own, never wanted children—or at least, my father didn't. But I don’t think they were given much choice. The Empire wanted to see how alien children would assimilate when raised by humans.”

“My lord,” he said softly, but didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t know how the other orphans fared, but I was lucky. So lucky,” she said, smiling. “My parents loved me like I was their own. They are responsible for the person I’ve become.” She began plaiting her hair over one shoulder, and Quinn found his eyes drawn to the deft movements of her fingers.

“When was the last time you saw them, my lord?”

“Three years ago,” she said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I don’t dare go see them, now that I’ve become so entangled in the Sith. It is only a matter of time before I am targeted—like we are targeting the loved ones of Nomen Karr's apprentice. I knew I would have to go to the Academy once my power manifested, but I didn’t think it could really be as bad as it is.”

“My lord?”

“The Sith,” she said, a hard look settling on her features. “It’s a disaster. I have no idea how the Dark Council endures with these maniacs running around and killing civilians—and each other. A government can’t function efficiently when treachery and murder are are the founding virtues. There are Imperial citizens starving while the Sith throw each other lavish parties, then kill the guest of honor the next week for a minor increase in their own prestige.”

Quinn stiffened in surprise at her blatant treason, yet her words had the ring of truth to them—and that frightened and upset him. He had dedicated his life to the Empire; he could give no quarter to disloyal thoughts. “My lord,” he said, “it is not for us to question the will of the Dark Council.”

She looked at him coolly. “You’re a smart man, Quinn. You know as well as I do that when someone tells you not to ask questions, it means that they are afraid of you having enough information to make up your own mind.”

When they settled down to sleep, Quinn tossed and turned for a long while. He heard Eleanora’s breathing deepen into sleep and the occasional soft snore. He rolled over onto his side and looked at her, watching her unguarded expression and the gentle rise and fall of her breast beneath the blankets. Who was this strange contradictory creature, this Sith apprentice who despised her own order? He could see why Baras had taken her on--her raw power was undeniable--but the two of them could not have been more different. It was no wonder she constantly butted heads with his true master. Quinn turned over and pushed aside any other thoughts of Eleanora, and soon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the leeches, but that’s all I can think of when I see dark standing water!


	4. In which Eleanora gets a new outfit, much to Quinn's chagrin

Eleanora looked down in surprise at the package Vette abruptly dropped in front of her. “Nora,” she sang, “I got you a present!” Eleanora grinned up at her.

“Vette, what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing! I just noticed that your...Sith uniform...thing is looking pretty shabby these days. So I got you a new outfit!” Vette said, poking at a blaster hole in Eleanora’s robes for good measure. “And don’t worry, I used your money for it!” she finished sweetly.

Eleanora laughed and opened the package, but the smile fell from her face as she pulled out the top—a skimpy little thing of red fabric and criss-crossed straps. The pants were not as revealing, but they were clearly fitted to be tight. The dark red fabric certainly complimented her skin, but Eleanora couldn’t wear this.

Vette noticed the change in mood and swooped in. “Nora,” she said, her voice stern, “I got you a present and it would be very rude for you to not even try it on!”

“Vette,” Eleanora said, exasperated, “It’s beautiful, but it’s not meant for someone like me. It would probably fit you or Jaesa better.” She held up the top and pulled it into shape—the red strip of fabric would barely cover her chest, let alone her torso.

“Just try it on! Please?” Vette said. “If you try it on and you hate it, I’ll let it go, I promise.”

“Fine,” Eleanora said, resigned, “but shut the door!” The Twi’lek bounced over and sealed the door, then laid the outfit out as the Chiss undressed herself. She pulled the pants on first—she honestly thought they wouldn’t fit, but the material was somehow elastic and skin-tight at the same time. She struggled with the top, so Vette undid the buckles and helped strap her in. When she had adjusted and tugged and gotten everything in place, Vette dragged her to the mirror. 

“Nora,” she said, “you look stunning.” 

Eleanora’s prior assessment had been partly correct—the red fabric did indeed barely contain her breasts, but the pants hugged her waist and the overall effect was quite flattering. She looked at herself, and was struck by how the outfit made her look decidedly alien. Swaths of soft blue skin were exposed—there would be no taking her for human from behind anymore. Eleanora had always downplayed her alienness and her voluptuousness. This outfit put them both on display. She turned around and glanced at her bottom in the mirror—the red fabric hugged every curve.

“Damn,” Vette said. 

“Indeed,” said Eleanora, flashing a wide grin at the Twi’lek. “But I can’t wear this on missions. No one would take me seriously!”

Vette walked up behind her and squeezed Eleanora’s shoulders. “Isn’t that the idea?” she said, “It would be a pretty big mistake for someone to underestimate you.”

“You do have a point, Vette,” Eleanora conceded. She gazed fondly at the red-skinned Twi’lek and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you, my friend,” she said.

“It’s the least I could do after the things you’ve done for me,” Vette said firmly and marched Eleanora out into the common room for dinner.

Pierce, who was loading up his plate, stopped to rake her up and down with his eyes. He gave her an approving nod as he walked to the table. “Lookin’ good, boss,” he said as he slid into his seat.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” she said, blushing a little. She had never felt this exposed, but there was something liberating about it.

“The color is lovely with your eyes, Master,” Jaesa piped in. Eleanor supposed her apprentice sensed her feelings—and her need for reassurance—and thanked her. Eleanor walked over to the counter and began putting various roasted vegetables on her plate. Quinn cleared his throat, and she turned to him—he was looking away from her, his cheeks flaming red.

“M...my lord,” he murmured, giving her a distant nod and walking off to the crew quarters. Eleanora watched him leave and resisted the urge to reach out with the Force and try to sense his feelings. She didn’t want to use her power that way—he hadn’t wanted her to know, what right did she have to read his feelings when he lacked the ability to do the same to her? She would be no better than Baras.

Vette wasted no time putting a smile back on Eleanora’s face.

“I don’t think Quinn approved of your new look at all, Nora. In fact, I think he was calculating all the uniform code rules you’re currently violating,” the Twi’lek said with a grin.

Pierce let out a grunt of laughter into his food—Vette was not the only disgruntled victim of Quinn’s citation book.

“Or,” Vette mused, “maybe he liked it a little _too_ much?” 

Eleanora felt her face get hot and directed a scolding glance at her friend. “Come now, Vette,” she said, “it’s not polite to speculate about the Lieutenant like that.”

Jaesa picked up her plate and stood, leaning in close to her master. “Some of us,” she said with a low voice and a small smile, “do not have to speculate."

  



	5. In which Quinn teases Eleanora

Quinn received notice of his promotion one week after they departed from Quesh. Eleanora beamed at him as he announced the news and asked for her to approve the order.

“Of course, Quinn. You deserve this.” 

He returned her smile and handed her the datapad, watching as her finger drew an effortless signature along the bottom of the order.

That night, the crew alert went off just before dinnertime. They all mustered in the holoterminal room—Vette looked curious, Jaesa appeared concerned, Pierce seemed bored, and Quinn looked a little perplexed. Eleanora stood straight with her arms locked behind her back.

“I’ve gathered you here for an important piece of news I received today. Our own Lieutenant Quinn has finally been recognized for his exemplary service and has been promoted to the rank of Captain.”

Quinn flushed and straightened to attention, his hands gripping each other tightly behind his back. He opened his mouth—most likely to protest at the unnecessary ceremony—but Eleanora was already moving across the room to the door. TooVee walked in carrying a tray, which she took from him. She sauntered up to Quinn, revealing a cake adorned with fresh fruit and cream, and “Congratulations Captain Quinn” in large neat letters. Quinn, utterly bewildered, appeared lost for words, but he managed to squeak out a murmur of thanks. Eleanora set the cake down and returned to Toovee, popping the cork on the bottle of champagne and pouring out five glasses. She handed the first to Quinn, and Toovee made the rounds until everyone had a glass of the delicately bubbling liquid.

“To Captain Quinn,” she said with a smile as she raised her glass in a toast. Vette, thrilled by cake and champagne, echoed her, and Jaesa and Pierce followed suit. Eleanora ignored the sour note in Pierce’s voice. It was no secret that he and Quinn did not get along.

“You honor me, my lord,” Captain Quinn answered with a full, formal bow. Pierce snorted and disguised it poorly as a cough, then downed his glass in one sip. He asked Eleanora’s permission to return to his quarters to review their upcoming mission to Hoth, which she granted, and walked out the door.

Vette and Jaesa paired off, chatting in the corner as Eleanora sliced the cake and handed it out. Quinn accepted the plate of sugary confection that was pushed on him, and Eleanora watched as he took a tentative bite.

“My lord, I must say, I...I am not typically fond of sweets but this is excellent,” he said when he had finished chewing. “Where did you manage to find a cake like this in the time between our earlier conversation and now? There were no deviations from our route towards Hoth.”

“She made it, Captain,” Vette said with a smirk. “Bet you didn’t know that our sweetest of Sith lords can bake the pants off anyone.”

Quinn colored a little at the Twi’lek’s remark, and turned to Eleanora for confirmation. “Is this true, my lord?”

“Yes, I made it,” she said, smiling almost shyly. Vette and Jaesa resumed their conversation in between bites of cake.

“My lord,” Quinn said, “You did not need to go to the trouble. Serving you is reward enough.” Eleanora felt her face fall a little, and Quinn must have noticed because he hurriedly continued, “But I am grateful that you did, nonetheless. It is delicious.”

Eleanora brightened. “You’re welcome, Captain. My mother taught me to bake when I was young. I don’t get many opportunities to practice nowadays.”

“I imagine not, my lord,” he agreed. “I had no idea you were a woman of so many hidden talents.” His voice took on a nearly sultry tone, and Eleanora’s face gleamed with mischievous intent as a number of inappropriate quips begged to be spoken. But she reigned herself in, remembering her promise to stop harassing the poor man.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said instead. Quinn finished his champagne, and Toovee refilled their glasses as he walked by.

Eleanora watched Quinn glance around the room, and then take a step closer to her. “My lord, I must commend you on your restraint,” he said softly. “I thought that setup would prove impossible for you to resist, but once again, you have exceeded my expectations. I will need to readjust my calculations.”

Eleanora gasped in mock outrage, clutching her glass closer to her chest. “Captain,” she said, “are you teasing me?” She felt a bit of color come into her cheeks, and she felt a little light-headed. Was this really happening? 

Unnoticed by both of them, Pierce reappeared to fill his glass, drain it, and fill it once more before returning to the crew quarters.

Quinn smirked at her—his upturned lips and half-lidded eyes made him look inordinately pleased with himself. “I’m afraid so, my lord.” He stepped a little closer, and Eleanora’s eyes flitted from his unruly hair to his piercing blue eyes to his full lips. “It appears, my lord, that you are a bad influence on me.” He leaned in, almost imperceptibly, and she watched his eyes flick down to her mouth, then return to holding her gaze. Suddenly a peal of laughter from Vette broke the spell, and Quinn flushed darkly and stepped back.

“Nora, Jaesa’s drunk! From two glasses of champagne!” Vette crowed. Eleanora watched Quinn for another moment, then turned to help Vette escort the inebriated apprentice back to the crew quarters. She couldn’t help the smile that kept playing about her lips.

  


* * *

  


Quinn ran his hands through his hair as he lay in his bunk. His fingers tightened into a fist and tugged on the dark strands, but the sharp pain brought no clarity. What had he been thinking? He had been so relieved when she stopped flirting with him—it made things so much less complicated and made it easier to ignore his growing attraction to her. He had enough trouble keeping his eyes off her, no matter how hard he tried—why would he encourage her? He had told her the truth—or part of it, anyway—the day she promised to stop teasing him; he was here to do a job. Part of that job was reporting anything and everything about her to his master. But his task was growing more complicated by the day—he was surprised how touched he was by her celebration of his promotion. The rest of the crew had no great love for him, and her display had been a subtle reinforcement to them of his status on the ship.

What would he tell Baras during their weekly meeting tomorrow? That Eleanora genuinely cared about her crew and their successes? That she was kind and generous, and—in spite of everything he believed—it did not make her weak? That her soft blue skin had flushed a faint purple across the apples of her cheeks when he had teased her back? That it was becoming impossible to keep his eyes off of her shapely body after the cave on Tatooine? That if Vette had not interrupted them tonight, he might have kissed her? He furiously dashed the thought from his mind and rolled over in his bunk, facing the wall as traitorous parts of his anatomy began to respond to the carnal turn of his thoughts. He remembered the feeling of gripping her thigh in the oasis, the way her soft skin dimpled under his touch. He felt filthy thinking about her this way, she was barely twenty-two and he was nearly thirty-eight. Nothing about this situation was appropriate.

He heard Pierce grunt. “The boss got you all hot and bothered over there, huh Captain?”

Quinn stiffened but chose not to dignify the remark with a response.

“She wants you, no mistaking that. Couldn’t tell you why, but I suppose there’s no way of knowing what Sith want. When she gets tired of fucking a sniveling lapdog, send her my way, would you? Woman like that needs a real man to fuck her, to grab on to that big ass and—”

Quinn was on his feet, his blaster pressed to the lieutenant’s temple. “If you _ever_ ,” Quinn said, his voice shaking with fury as he unlatched the safety, “if you ever speak about my lord in such a vulgar, repulsive manner again, I will kill you. Do you understand me, you lumbering cretin?”

Pierce stared up at him with insolence, but grunted an assent. He clearly had more than one choice remark ready to give Quinn, but apparently judged that it wasn’t worth it. The two men lay in their bunks on opposite sides of the room, facing their respective walls. Vette snored softly in the bunk above Pierce, and Jaesa hadn’t stirred since Eleanora had gently laid her to bed. 

“Update me, Quinn,” Baras commanded the next morning. “How is my beloved apprentice faring? Have there been any new developments?”

“There have been no major developments that affect our mission, my lord,” Quinn said. “We arrive at Hoth the day after tomorrow to deal with Xerendis.” He was careful to keep his statements to the dark lord truthful—the man had an uncanny ability to detect lies, even for a Sith. But Baras must have felt a conflict in Quinn, because he crossed his arms and tilted his masked head at his servant.

“There is something you are not telling me, Quinn. I do not have to remind you what will happen if you are anything less than forthcoming with me,” Darth Baras said. Quinn quashed his instinctive panic—it would do him no good. Instead, he summoned his frustration, his anger, his bitterness—all feelings that the Sith could understand.

“It’s your apprentice, my lord. She has made...overtures towards me. I have, of course, refused her,” he said, in a clipped tone.

“And why would you not return her affections? Do you not find her _attractive_ , Captain?” Quinn could hear the amusement in his master’s voice.

“I find her obscene, my lord,” he spat. “She is an alien, and she looks more fit to be a dancer in Nemro’s palace than a Sith apprentice.” He could say these things to Baras without worry because some small, cruel part of him believed the words. When he had first seen her in person, he was shocked—most Sith, and Imperials in general, were slim and athletic, toning their bodies and their minds in service to the Empire. Eleanora was soft, with generous curves that flared out above and below her waist. He later learned that she used the Force to enhance every blow, pummeling any enemy into submission, but he had certainly underestimated her. He was sure her foes did as well. Especially in that scandalous red outfit that tormented him.

Baras chuckled, pleased with Quinn’s anger. “It’s true, Captain, she is rather...exotic, isn’t she? You’ll no doubt find a more...acceptable woman and settle down once you’ve served your purpose to me.”

“Indeed, my lord,” Quinn answered, allowing his anger to swell at Baras’ slight towards Eleanora. He knew he had no claim to righteous indignation—after all, he had just said worse things about her—but he didn’t believe them, not really. He turned his anger inward, where it settled comfortably as fuel for his self-loathing.

“But I must say, you were not entirely truthful in your first statement to me, Captain,” Baras chided, his tone that of a parent scolding a wayward child.

Quinn stiffened. “I do not understand, my lord, I have not—”

Baras silenced him with a wave. “You told me that there were no new developments affecting your mission, but I think that my apprentice’s infatuation with you could serve my purposes in the future. You will cease rebuffing her advances. You do not need to court the girl, but keep her _interested_. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord,” Quinn answered, bowing. When the holoconnection ended, he slumped into the chair in the medbay and buried his head in his hands.


	6. In which Eleanora and Quinn get a little closer on Hoth

Eleanora was all business as she prepared their camp for the night—she walked to and fro, organizing their supplies, surveying what remained after the latest Talz attack. She was staying busy to keep the panic at a workable threshold. Both she and Quinn had meticulously selected each piece of cold-weather gear to bring with them: insulated bedrolls, personal tents, portable heat generators, and thermal underclothes. Quinn had even packed a third bedroll just in case. In the end, all their planning had been for nothing; the first ambush had stripped them of half their rations and one of the tents. During the second attack, the ever-pragmatic Talz had realized they stood no chance of defeating Eleanora with brute force and instead turned their firepower on their remaining supply gravsled—if their blasters could not touch the Sith and her human companion, they hoped that the oncoming blizzard would.

Eleanora dug through the blaster-scarred crate that they had hauled to the safety of the cavern and pulled out a blackened heap of fabric, which she could only surmise was one of the bedrolls. She tossed it aside and removed a few packages of rations that were mostly intact, moving those to the ‘keep’ pile. Eleanora glanced over at her companion, who was bent over the Imperial regulation pellet fire kit. Both of their thermal generators were non-functional, but Quinn had thought to bring the small kit in his personal pack. Every so often, the flash of a spark caught her eye, followed by a string of muttered invectives as the promise of warmth faded into the chill air of the cave.

She walked over to Quinn and gently touched his shoulder. He looked up at her, still scowling, but moved obediently when she gestured for him to step back. She ignited her lightsaber. The blazing light of the purple blade cast shadows from the stalactites and Eleanora was given the impression that she was standing in the maw of some gigantic beast. She touched the blade to the fuel pellets in their little cage and they roared to life. Once the initial flames dissipated, Quinn closed the lid, safely containing the fuel. It was a small heat source, but its warmth was welcome and Quinn had said it would burn for 10 hours; longer if they used the backup fuel. The storm outside continued to rage, and Eleanora was cheered by the sight of glowing coals.

“Thank you, my lord,” Quinn said, “I...did not think of that.”

Eleanor smiled at him. “Come, Quinn, help me sort through what we have left after those damned Talz blew up our speeders.”

A few minutes later, they had their tally: three days worth of rations, 32 hours of fuel, one cold-resistant tent with several burn-holes, two thermal blankets, and exactly one bedroll.

Quinn cleared his throat as Eleanora stared bleakly at the pile of salvageable gear. “Well, my lord, things may not be as bad as they seem. If the storm lasts less than 24, or even 48 hours we stand a reasonable chance of survival if we ration our fuel.”

“And if it lasts 5 days, Captain? Or 6?” she asked, looking into the fire. She knew that blizzards on Hoth almost always lasted at least a day, but they had been recorded to last up to a week.

“Then we will deal with the situation when it arises, my lord. There is no use in fretting about our chances right now, as we have no means to alter them.”

Eleanora looked at Quinn—was he trying to comfort her in his own way? Vette would have died on the spot if she ever heard Quinn say to damn the odds. He had a soft expression on his face, but Eleanor could not quite read it.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said.

They heated their MREs over the coals—a welcome change from past two nights, as the portable heat generators did not give off such concentrated warmth—and Quinn placed the tent as close as he safely could to their heat source. They hung their soaked outerwear on rocky protrusions from the wall on the other side of the pellet fire. Then Eleanora climbed into the tent, and Quinn followed.

Eleanora looked at the bedroll and blankets—she had been thinking of nothing but this since their supply tally, but still hadn’t figured a way to avoid making Quinn uncomfortable. She shivered as a tendril of cold air traveled across her shoulders—they had patched up the holes in the tent with pieces of the burnt bedroll as best as they could, but it clearly was not sealed. Quinn had a look of grim resignation on his face as he trembled in the cold—it reminded Eleanora of a man she had once seen being escorted to his own execution. Was he truly so upset at the idea of sharing a bedroll with her? She reached up absently and removed her hair tie, rolling it down onto her wrist as she shook out the grey strands with her other hand.

“Captain,” she said, and Quinn flinched as if she had struck him. “We will open the bedroll flat and each take a blanket. Is that an acceptable arrangement for you?”

“Yes, my lord,” he said—his relief was palpable. He quickly opened the bedroll and laid it flat while she grabbed the blankets, and in a moment they were both huddled under the covers. Eleanora was careful to give the Captain his space, but they instinctively lay closer to each other than the outer edges. After about twenty minutes, Eleanora was chilly, even with her natural cold hardiness. She knew their soaked outerwear was absorbing some of the heater’s warmth, but they would need it once their fuel ran out—and they would need it dry.

Quinn, however, was freezing. He was trembling violently now, and his teeth were chattering. Eleanora switched on the portable light and looked at him. His lips and the tip of his nose had a bluish cast.

“Captain, I don’t know much about human anatomy other than that it is roughly similar to my own, but I am fairly certain you are not supposed to be that color,” she said, her voice gentle.

Quinn shot her a look, but his teeth were chattering too violently for him to scold her about joking at inappropriate times.

“Come here,” she said, and reached out to him, grabbing his wrist. He gasped when her much-warmer skin touched his, and she pulled him close. Quinn pressed himself against her, all shame forgotten in his desperate need for relief from the cold. She moved the blanket and sat up to pull the zipper and close the bedroll around them—and felt him reach for her, grabbing her arm with a trembling hand and pulling her back down. She zipped the bedroll on her way and reached up one more time to pull both blankets over them.

“M...m..my lord…” he said between violent shivers, “you...you’re...s..so _warm_.”

Quinn was facing her, his hands clutching each other against his chest and pressed against her shoulder. She turned on her side to face him and pulled him even closer, not pleased that he was still shaking so hard. His head was now resting under her chin—she did her best not to flinch in surprise when he nuzzled his face into her neck and she felt the icy chill of his nose against her skin. His arms were trapped between them, but after a moment he slipped them around her and buried them in her hair, pressing them to the back of her warm neck. She couldn’t control the soft noise of surprise and the involuntary arching of her back at the shocking cold of his touch.

“F...forgive me, my lord,” he said into her neck, “I would never presume...to..be so familiar...under any other circums...s..stance.”

Eleanora sighed. “You don’t need to apologize, Captain. This is a matter of life and death. You are a valued member of my team, I cannot afford to lose you because of your damned propriety.” She left unspoken what he had become to her—an unshakable pillar of support and stability, and the man who made her heart race with the slightest innocent touch.

Quinn’s fingers tightened in her hair at her words, but he said nothing.

“Besides,” she added, “how are you going to give me inaccurate statistical analyses before every battle if you lose your fingers to frostbite?”

She felt the warmth of Quinn’s breath as he exhaled a note of laughter. The stubble on his face scraped wonderfully against her neck as he adjusted slightly. The sensation made her shiver, and it traveled like an electric current down into her belly.

They were both asleep within half an hour. 

  


  


* * *

  


Quinn felt the warm, soft body in his arms and knew it could only belong to his lord. He knew he would feel shame about this dream when he awoke, but he would enjoy every second of it now. He smiled into the smooth skin where her shoulder met her neck and pressed a kiss there. He buried his nose in her silver hair. He palmed the swell of her breast, moaning softly at how she filled—and overfilled—his hand, and he nipped her gently just under her ear. She made a soft, pleased sound, almost plaintive. Encouraged, he slid a hand around her waist and grabbed her hip, pulling her back and pressing himself against her so she could feel just how hard she made him. A spark of pleasure rewarded his movement—the warmth and feel of her was intoxicating. She almost felt _real_. He slid his hand back up her body and squeezed her breast again, thrusting against her rear once more—

“Quinn?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep and confusion.

Quinn froze as several things occurred to him at once. This was not a dream. They were on Hoth, they were conserving body heat, they were trapped in a blizzard. And he was wrapped around a Sith lord, his superior officer, his hand groping her breast and grinding his erection against her ass.

He released her instantly and moved backwards, only to find himself trapped within the confines of the bedroll. He scrambled out, backpedaling on his hands to put distance between them. He knelt in supplication before her from the safety of the other side of the tent.

“My lord...I…” he gasped, horror and shame crushing his chest like a vice grip, “I didn’t...I was…please forgive me, my lord, I thought—”

“Quinn, calm down, it’s alright—”

“It is not alright,” he said, bringing his hand to his face, which he was sure was as red as Eleanora’s eyes. “I behaved like an animal...I can’t imagine what you must think of me, my lord.”

Eleanora stared at the prostrate man, her heart still racing from waking up to his heated touch. She saw that he was still half-hard; his thermal underclothes left little to the imagination. She felt her cheeks burn as the heat pooled low in her belly ignited once more, but she pulled herself together.

“You want to know what I think, Quinn?” she said, careful to keep her voice even.

“My lord,” he breathed, lowering his head as if anticipating a blow. He was already beginning to shiver outside of the blankets.

“I think that we are two biological creatures forced into close proximity by extreme circumstances that are outside of our control. I think that our bodies— _both_ of our bodies,” she ground out, ignoring the fact that his face turned up to meet hers in shock, “reacted as anyone’s would have in this situation.” Eleanora wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying harder to convince.

Quinn latched on to the excuse like she had tossed him a life preserver in a stormy sea. “Of course, my lord,” he said fervently, “of course, you are correct.”

“Now, Captain,” she said, “you’d better get back into the bedroll before you freeze. I will check our cold-weather gear and see if it has dried.” She pulled herself out of the blankets and rose, stretching. Quinn looked away but crawled obediently back into the warmth of their makeshift bed.

Eleanora exited the tent and quickly zipped it back up, trying not to allow any heat to escape. The inside of the tent had been chilly, even for her, but it seemed balmy compared to the deep, numbing cold of the cavern. It hadn’t been this bad last night. She worked quickly, counting out the number of pellets Quinn had allotted for the morning and adding them to the still-glowing embers in the metal grate. She checked their outerwear and cursed—the fabric facing the heater had partially dried, but the opposite side had frozen solid overnight. She would have to venture back out in a few hours to turn the clothing around.

She walked to the comm unit they had set up near the cavern’s mouth and scanned the frequencies, but it was all static—the blizzard must still be raging. She returned to camp and began to dig through the bag with the MREs, but her hands were shaking so hard she dropped the first one she tried to grab. Too cold to continue fumbling, she hauled the whole bag over to the tent. It took her several tries to grab the pull and unzip the tent, and she nearly fell into it when she finally got it open.

“My lord,” Quinn said, sitting up. She pulled the bag into the tent after her and reached to zip it shut, but Quinn was already there, sealing out the worst of the cold.

Eleanora slipped her shivering limbs into the bedroll, hugging herself and rubbing her arms. Her lips trembled as she held in the chattering of her teeth. So much for Chiss cold resistance, she thought. She wanted nothing more than to press herself to Quinn and steal back some of the warmth she had imparted into the bedroll before she left, but she knew she would eventually warm up regardless. They had no idea how long the storm would last, and events of the morning were still on her mind.

Quinn regarded her silently, and she saw that he was warring with himself. There was something in his eyes that she couldn’t identify, and as much as she wanted to reach out with the Force and discover it, she would not. She had no further time to ponder, because he reached out and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. She felt his chin on the top of her head as she laid her cheek against his chest—she could hear the comforting _thump-thump_ , _thump-thump_ of his heart through his thermal. His hands rubbed her back and arms briskly for a minute or so until her shivering subsided.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she murmured against him.

“I cannot afford to lose you, my lord."


	7. In which Quinn and Vette reach an understanding, and Eleanora and Quinn have a misunderstanding

Eleanora paced back and forth in her quarters, tension radiating from her body. Vette was perched on the bed, tinkering with the casing on her modified blaster. 

Jaesa appeared in the doorway and leaned against it, arms crossed. “Master, I can feel your stress from across the ship. What is troubling you?”

“Sorry, Jaesa,” Eleanora said, “it’s our next mission.”

“What, killing Darth Revengeman? Darth Comeuppance? Whatever his ridiculous name is,” Vette said, not looking up from her work. “He probably deserves it, why do you care?”

“Oh, I’m sure he deserves it, that’s not why I’m worried,” Eleanora said with a dismissive wave.

“Then what?” the Twi’lek asked.

“It’s the bigger picture. Baras has always been power-mad, but until now he has still been answerable to the Dark Council. When Vengean falls, Baras will rise—and lose the few constraints left on him.”

Jaesa watched her master pace. “You’re afraid of what it means for us,” she stated, her voice soft.

“Yes,” Eleanora admitted, “yes, I am. I’ve been under no illusion about my value to Baras—I know that I am a tool to be used and discarded once the task is accomplished. And I’m prepared for that eventuality, whenever it comes. But the rest of you didn’t sign up for that. You’re more vulnerable than I am.”

“Nora,” Vette said, “give us a little credit. You told us we could leave at any time—I didn’t believe you in the beginning, sure, but I’ve known for a while now that I could leave and you’d let me.” She approached Eleanora and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m still here.”

“You’ve made us as safe as you could, master,” Jaesa said. “You moved our families into hiding, shielded us from the Sith. And if it comes down to it, I think we are safer with you than trying to escape on our own.”

Eleanora sighed, running her hand up and down her face. “I hope you’re right, Jaesa.”

Vette flopped herself back on the bed, picking up her blaster pistol again and removing another part of the casing. “There’s something else bothering you, not just Baras. I don’t have to have Force insight to know that.”

Eleanora said nothing.

“You and Quinn haven’t looked at each other since we picked you up on Hoth. I don’t even think I’ve seen you both in the same room, other than for briefings with our evil overlord,” Vette observed. Her tone was casual, but she shot a penetrating glance at the Chiss woman.

Eleanora crossed her arms and glared at the Twi’lek.

“Fine!” Vette said, “don’t tell me. You know I’ll find out one way or another.”

Eleanora shooed them both out and sat down to review the mission again. She got as far as pulling up the area map before she relapsed into brooding, chin resting in her hand. Vette was right. She and Quinn had been avoiding each other since they had signaled for emergency pickup from outside the cavern. She wanted to talk to him, desperately—she hadn’t realized how much of her average day she spent picking his brain for strategies, relying on his years of experience to guide her. She always tried to minimize casualties on her missions, and his help in planning was invaluable even though he seemed to disapprove of her regard for enemy lives.

But even though she looked at him hopefully every time they passed each other in the galley or the corridors, he never raised his eyes to meet hers. He always gave a small bow, said “my lord,” and continued on his way—as if he were some nameless soldier in a legion showing due deference to his general. As if he hadn’t lay in her arms for hours, his face nuzzled into her neck as he shivered. As if he hadn’t touched her so passionately the following morning as he dreamed. As if it all meant nothing to him.

  


* * *

  


Quinn sat in the captain’s chair, punching numbers into his datapad. He clenched the pad as he realized with irritation that he had just repeated a formula for the third time in a row. He couldn’t focus.

“Heya Captain,” said a bright voice behind him. Quinn let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“Do you need something, Vette?” he said in clipped tones, “I am very busy.”

“I do, actually. Nora’s upset and she won’t tell me why, and you won’t even look at her, so I know it has something to do with you. So I’m going to ask you instead.” The Twi’lek walked into his line of vision and reclined against the wall, her arms crossed in front of her slim form. Her bright red eyes bored into him.

Quinn bristled, angered by her insolence and the inquiry itself. “I am under no obligation to divulge the details of the mission to you. If there is nothing else, kindly leave me to my duties.”

“Listen, Captain,” she said, taking a step closer to him, “I don’t need to know the details to guess that she probably saved your sorry ass and now for some reason you’re ignoring her. You’re hurting her—I won’t stand for that.”

He ignored her, returning to his calculations. Maybe if he didn’t reward her with a response, she would leave. He felt the weight of her stare for a few more seconds, then heard her stalk out the door.

“Vette,” he said. He heard her footsteps stop. “You are right, I’ll...I’ll talk to her.”

“Wow, I’m right? Can I get that in writing?”

  


* * *

  


Eleanora heard her door chime sound as she finished combing her hair. “Hold on, “ she called as she secured her bathrobe around herself and hastily tugged on her sleeping pants. She knew it wouldn’t be Vette or Jaesa—usually Quinn was the only one who bothered to use the chime. Her heart began to race. She glanced at herself in the mirror; her hair hung in neat, damp sheets around her shoulders. The dark grey robe was modest enough, she thought—a little revealing in the front but hardly scandalous. The black leggings clung to her skin but the robe covered her bottom.

She pressed the button to open the door and took a step back in surprise as Lieutenant Pierce loomed over her.

“My lord,” he said, “Got something to discuss with you if you’ve got a minute. Just got off the comm with General Rakton. You might have heard of him—most decorated commander in the Empire.”

“Come in, Lieutenant,” she said. Pierce briefed her on the mission from Rakton, and she gave him permission to transfer back to his old Black Ops unit for the duration of the mission. He walked to the door to leave, then hesitated.

“My lord,” he said, “is there anything I can help you with before I ship out tomorrow?” The man’s dark eyes boldly swept over her body—he did not even attempt to conceal his meaning. Eleanora blushed as her face hardened.

“That will be all, Lieutenant,” she said coolly.

Pierce held up his hands in appeasement. “Understood, my lord. You’re the boss, I won’t mention it again.” Eleanora relaxed a little—at least he was taking it well. “Can’t blame a man for trying, though,” he said as he walked out the door.

“Good luck on your mission, Lieutenant,” she said as she stood in the doorframe and reached to close the door. She was about to press the button when she noticed Quinn in the hallway, his eyes burning into Pierce’s back as the larger man walked away. Quinn met her gaze, taking in her loose hair and attire and the flush lingering on her face and neck.

“My lord,” he said. His tone was chilly. “I wished to speak with you, but I see that you are not decent. I will return later.” He bowed stiffly and began to walk away.

“Quinn, wait,” she said, but he was already gone. She stepped back inside and closed the door behind her. “Damn it."


	8. In which Eleanora corrects Quinn's misunderstanding

Quinn stalked into the medbay and locked the door. He ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed a hand down his face. His heart was pounding in his chest like a trapped animal throwing itself against the walls of its cage.

He was completely taken aback by his response to seeing Pierce leave Eleanora’s quarters. It shouldn’t have mattered to him—he had no romantic attachment to the Sith woman, no claim upon her, she had every right to take any pleasure where she wished. He was here to further the interests of the Empire and to report information to his master. He would not—could not—become entangled with the person he had been sent to spy upon. So why did he feel like storming down to the crew quarters and starting a fistfight with a man twice his size?

He gripped the back of the chair, taking deep breaths, doing his best to get a grip on his tumultuous emotions. He had no right, no call to be angry. It was absurd. In a way, this was a good thing for him and his mission—he could stop pining for Eleanora and what he couldn’t have with her. She had shown a passing interest in him, but moved on to a more eager lover while he stood back wringing his hands. It was perfectly sensible.

He had begun to calm down when his mind’s eye, unbidden, imagined Pierce lifting Eleanora off the ground and gripping her thick legs as they wrapped around his waist. He saw the man’s large hand slip into her robe and push it open, saw him squeeze her breast and roll a dark blue nipple between his thumb and forefingers. He saw Eleanora’s head fall back in pleasure, her red eyes closing as she moaned for Pierce not to stop. He saw the man’s hips begin to thrust as he fucked her, saw Eleanora’s hands claw at his neck and back as she gasped his name.

Hot tears stung his eyes and he covered his face with his hand. _Good_ , he thought, feel the anger, the humiliation, the regret, and let it cauterize the open wound so you can move forward without this weakness. He sat down in the chair and began inputting his security codes, pulling up the hidden video feed that Baras had insisted he install in her quarters. If imagining her liaison with Pierce was this painful, seeing it would be even more devastating. He knew it was wrong to watch her intimate moments, but he had to know—he had to be sure his infatuation with her would be crushed beyond repair.

The feed appeared; Eleanora was laying in bed, facing away from the camera. He began searching, rewinding the video to the correct timestamp and pressed play when he saw Pierce’s hulking figure enter the room. They spoke for a few minutes—Pierce rattled off the details of a mission to Corellia, Black Ops, his glory days, old teammates. Quinn sped the video up slightly, impatient, and sat back in surprise when Pierce walked to the door. He pressed play again and caught Pierce’s proposition—and Eleanora’s unhesitating dismissal. Quinn’s face burned with embarrassment even though there was no one to see. All this agitation, this agonized writhing, for nothing but the fantasies of his own wildly jealous mind. And he had spoken to Eleanora like a petulant child, unable to contain his anger.

He stopped the replay and the screen reverted to the live feed. He was about to exit the program and cover his tracks when the mic picked up a low moan. His hand hovered—he knew he should shut it off now, especially after spying on her. Eleanora turned onto her back and he saw the movement of her hand under the blanket as she let out another soft sound. Her legs moved slightly and her breathing became more uneven as her hips gave an occasional thrust upward. Quinn felt himself begin to grow hard at the quiet noises she made, at the way her nipples were visible through the thin blanket. This was wrong, it was a complete violation of her privacy—he was no better than a peeping tom. He needed to shut off the feed and wipe the terminal’s recent activity log. Instead, he reached down and rubbed himself through his uniform pants, which had grown almost painfully tight. In a swift movement, he freed his cock and began to stroke himself, unable to resist.

She writhed, reaching up with her free hand to palm her own breast—the blanket fell away with the movement and Quinn watched as she rolled and pulled the stiff peak of her nipple. She whimpered softly and he wanted it to be his own hands on her dusky blue flesh, _his_ mouth on her breast; _his_ touch dragging those noises from her.

Eleanora’s movements grew more frenzied as she neared her peak, and after a few seconds her body arched under the blankets, her hips bucking as she closed her red eyes and threw her head back. He felt himself about to follow when he heard her cry out—low, passionate, and unmistakable: “ _Quinn!_ ”

A jolt of ecstasy shot through him, mixed with varying degrees of shock and shame, and he came with a strangled groan. He stroked himself a few more times, but the pleasure had already soured. He felt pathetic, filthy—a lecherous old man touching himself while spying on a much younger woman. But the way she had said his name—like she needed him—sent another spark of arousal through him, despite his spent state.

“My lord,” he said to no one. “My lord."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, this is starting to get smutty! I was blushing like poor Quinn when I was writing. Any and all feedback is welcome--this is unknown territory for me. I've certainly read my fair share of smut, but writing it is a whole different beast.


	9. In which Eleanora and Quinn discuss the past and deal with the present

  
Helplessly hoping  
Her harlequin hovers nearby  
Awaiting a word  
Gasping at glimpses of gentle true spirit  
He runs, wishing he could fly  
Only to trip at the sound of goodbye  
-Crosby, Stills, and Nash, 1969

  


Eleanora walked into the cockpit and crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight onto one foot. “You wished to speak with me, Captain?”

“My lord,” he said, bowing, “indeed I do. His cheeks flushed faintly when he raised his blue eyes to hers, then looked down and away. Eleanora tightened her grip on herself, controlling her irritation. She didn’t appreciate being judged by him for speaking to a member of her crew in her quarters, and the false conclusions she suspected that he had leapt to. What business of it was his, anyway? Pierce wasn’t her type—or the man she wanted—but Quinn didn’t know that. He fell to one knee in front of her.

“First, I wish to apologize for my tone and words last night. It was disrespectful and unacceptable for me to speak to my superior in such a way,” he said, diving headfirst into the groveling. “Secondly, I wish to apologize for avoiding you recently—I was not behaving in a professional manner. As such, I will accept whatever reprimand you see fit—”

“Quinn, stop,” she said. “If you’re going to make this a formal military statement of apology, I’m not interested.” The man stared at his feet and did not look up. “You didn’t violate a border treaty or disobey a lawful order from a superior officer,” she said, her voice dropping lower, “you—you hurt my feelings.”

He did look up at her now, guilt etched into his handsome features. “My lord,” he said, “that was not my intention. I…”

“Quinn, please get up,” she said, “I can’t talk to you when you’re down there.” She held out her right hand and he took it as she helped pull him up. He did not release her hand—instead, he reached for her left as well and held them both within the gentle grip of his gloved fingers.

“I am sorry, my lord,” he said, and she could see that he truly was. He gave her fingers a squeeze, then dropped her hands, seeming to just now realize that he had been holding them.

“It’s alright, Quinn. Just talk to me next time if you have a problem—I hope by now you’ve realized that I do try to be reasonable,” Eleanora said. Her gaze lingered on his face—on the beauty marks that always caught her eye. She wanted nothing more than to grab him, to shove him against the wall of the cockpit and kiss him until he was flushed and breathless in her arms, to show him that it was him she wanted, not Pierce. But she took a half-step back instead.

“Is that all, Captain?”

“Yes, my lord, I will not squander any more of your time,” he said.

Eleanora turned to leave, but halted when the comm alert suddenly started beeping. “What’s that?” she asked, turning to Quinn.

“It’s a transmission, my lord,” he said, brow furrowing as he punched commands into the comm unit. “It’s….it’s Moff Broysc. Again.”

“Broysc?” Eleanora said. “I thought you had addressed this with Imperial High Command—after Major Ovech, there can’t be any more doubt about Broysc’s unfitness for duty.”

“I went as far up the chain of command as I could with no luck, my lord,” he said, staring down at the flashing comm indicator. “Broysc has been sending transmissions all week. They are beginning to disrupt operations.”

Eleanora bristled. “He’s been harassing you all week? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did not want to trouble you, my lord,” he said.

“Put him through to me on the main holoterminal,” she said, walking briskly out of the room. She stood at attention in front of the viewer, her hands gripped behind her back.

“—trapped on Balmorra forever! You deserve to rot! Traitor! Scum! Filth!” the Moff screamed. Eleanora couldn’t see the spittle that was flying from the man’s mouth over the comm, but she could hear it well enough.

“He doesn’t even realize that he was on hold,” Quinn said in a low voice from his position off-screen. “He’s completely out of touch with reality, my lord.”

“Who are you? Where is the admiral? Rodjnik—Rodjnik, what’s happening? All I see is an alien standing in front of me. Admiral! I heard your voice! Come out and face me! You—”

“Moff Broysc,” Eleanora said sharply, cutting through the Moff’s nonsensical ranting. “You will stop harassing my Captain. You will never contact this ship again.”

“You! It was you who liberated him from his purgatory! Are you out of your mind? He’s a traitor, his insubordination is lethal!” the Moff shrieked, his voice elevating in pitch with each word.

“Be silent,” she said, but the man continued to yell.

“He won’t stop, my lord,” Quinn said, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Cut the transmission, Quinn, this is pointless. You’re right, he’s completely unhinged,” Eleanora said, shaking her head.

“How dare you, you alien filth! You’re in league with him, of course he’d shack up with some blue-skinned whore, standing there half-naked—” the transmission ended abruptly with a particularly violent button-push from Quinn.

Eleanora scowled, her arms still crossed. “Charming man, Quinn. Can’t imagine how you ever fell out with him.”

“My lord,” Quinn said, his expression dark, “I am sorry that he used such vile language towards you—I do not care what he says about me, but for him to—”

Eleanora snorted and made a dismissive gesture. “Quinn, if you think that’s vile, you haven’t spent enough time with your fellow soldiers. That was mild compared to what men have been saying to me since I was thirteen.”

Quinn stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar. “My lord,” he said, “I—I do not know what to say.” He took a step closer, then stepped back again. “Thirteen?” he said, his voice lower, brow furrowed in concern.

She looked at him, arms crossed. “Are you surprised? Women get harassed all the time—alien women doubly so. Don’t you have a sister? She never talked to you about it?”

“My sister and I were never close, my lord,” Quinn said, his hands clasped behind his back. “I spent most of my childhood and adolescence in boarding schools, as did she—we really only saw each other during our annual visits home.”

“Well, what about a girlfriend? An ex-wife?” Eleanora kept her tone casual—she had done her best not to pry into his personal life since he was so reticent to share, but she was intensely curious. She tried to visualize the type of woman he’d have dated as a younger man—she imagined a petite girl with dark hair, dark eyes, and a haughty expression.

“Ah,” he said, looking away, a blush darkening his fine features. “I must confess, I have never had much time for romantic ventures. There were always academics, extracurriculars—and after I attended the military academy, there were my duties.”

“Really?” she said, staring at him. How could a man as beautiful as he was not have a string of past partners? Eleanora thought about her own ex-partner—he hadn’t exactly been a generous lover, but she did have some experience at least because of their time together.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, raising one eyebrow. “Does that surprise you?”

“It does,” she said, feeling her own face become a bit warm. She looked up at him, pondering what his admission meant—how the uptight, ever-composed Quinn might look if she were to ruin his composure. How he might look as she made him gasp and writhe with her hands and her mouth—how her name would sound moaned helplessly from his soft, full lips. Eleanora realized she had leaned a little closer to him without meaning to, so she took a small step back.

“My lord,” Quinn said, “forgive me, but I’m afraid we’ve gone considerably off-topic into subjects not appropriate for military communications. We must decide how to handle the situation with Broysc.”

“Indeed, Captain,” she said, trying to suppress her body’s response to her recent train of thought. She ruminated for a few moments, then turned to face Quinn.

“I know you tried High Command already, but I have someone I will speak to. Will you forward me your testimony and evidence on Broysc? I will send the report tonight.”

“Of course, my lord,” he said, “but I feel I must deal with the man myself. I request permission to disembark tomorrow and travel to Broysc’s ship. I will return as soon as I can.”

“You may go, Quinn,” Eleanora said, “but only kill him as a last resort. I will not have you court-martialed for murdering a Moff in the middle of a crowded vessel.”

Quinn's jaw tightened, but he bowed his head and said, “As you say, my lord,” and walked to the crew quarters.

  


* * *

  


Quinn returned two days later, one babbling Moff in tow. Major Ovech still had loyal men near Broysc, so the abduction had been bloodless—just a simple matter of rearranging duty shifts to make sure the right men were in place. They had told Broysc they were bringing him to the pleasure barge’s executive suite, and instead walked him into Quinn’s shuttle. He had absolutely no idea what he would do with Broysc, but Eleanora had asked him not to kill the man, so he hadn’t.

“My lord, I have returned,” he said as he approached her position at the helm. She turned to him with a smile that fell off her face when she spied the handcuffed old man he had dragged into the room behind him.

“I found him on a pleasure barge while countless battles are raging. _Despicable_ ,” Quinn spat. The Moff, startled back into lucidity by the sight of Eleanora, began ranting once more.

“You! The Sith whore! I am commandeering your ship, your crew! Men, seize the traitors!” Broysc shrieked.

Quinn watched as Eleanora’s face hardened and she reached out a hand towards the madman—with a swift gesture, he was silenced. His mouth moved and contorted wildly, but no sound came out.

“I wished to execute him at once, my lord, but you asked me not to, so here he is. He cannot be allowed to damage Imperial interests any more than he has,” Quinn said.

Eleanora walked to the holoterminal and punched in a few commands. In a few moments, a large, imposing figure towered over them. Quinn stood at attention and saluted the man who, judging by his uniform and his scarred face, could only be Grand Moff Kilran.

“Grand Moff Kilran,” Eleanora began, inclining her head with respect, “I believe you received my transmission two days ago about Moff Broysc and his unacceptable treatment of my Captain. I now have him in custody.”

“A bold move,” said Kilran, not disapprovingly. “But then again, I expected nothing less from you after your work on the Brentaal Star. I have not forgotten the service you rendered to me there—that is why I am entertaining your request.”

“Broysc is utterly mad, Grand Moff,” Eleanora said. “If you do not believe me, hear him for yourself.” She made a gesture and Broysc’s high, grating voice filled the room, seemingly trying to make up for the lost time.

“—destroy Balmorra! I will send you and your whore back there and raze the planet from orbit! I am the hero of Druckenwell! Your insubordination will be rewarded no longer! It was your order that allowed the escaped Jedi targets to flee Taris before the bombardment! Your incompetence lost us the Battle of Talay!” Spittle dripped from the man’s chin as he screamed.

Grand Moff Kilran watched Broysc with a dark look on his face. “Broysc, the Battle of Talay took place 20 years before this man was born. And the Taris bombardment was before you were born, you old fool.”

“Grand Moff!” Broysc cried, “Grand Moff, I implore you, arrest these traitors! Unlawful arrest, false imprisonment!”

Kilran eyed Quinn, and then Eleanora. “He may be senile, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong about Druckenwell. How am I supposed to take the word of this disgraced soldier who just made Captain at nearly forty over a decorated military hero? Do you trust Captain Quinn, young Sith?” He was utterly focused on Eleanora, who stood proudly before him, her head held high.

“You will take his word because it is my own, and my master’s. My trust in Captain Quinn has been earned time and again by his exemplary service and dedication. He is an irreplaceable member of my crew who is being stalked, harassed, and threatened by a madman with unlimited reach and resources, and I will not stand for it. There is no one on my crew who I rely on more than Quinn.” Her hand came to rest on Quinn’s shoulder, and she gave him a brief squeeze.

Quinn felt himself swell under her praise—and all that said in front of a Grand Moff, no less. He knew he was blushing, but he remained at attention and did not look down. Broysc was uncharacteristically quiet, but a quick glance showed that Eleanora had silenced the man again. 

“And, Grand Moff Kilran,” she continued, “I believe you will take my word because this man is damaging the Empire from within. His weakness spreads like a cancer, and he is directly responsible for the loss of thousands of Imperial lives. He dares to meddle in the business of a member of the Dark Council—it will not be tolerated. Because I respect you and the Imperial chain of command, I am offering you the opportunity to handle this situation before the Sith do.”

Quinn barely dared to breathe—Eleanora was indeed a lord of the Sith, but she was still an apprentice. Her words were bold, but there was more than a little bluff behind them. Baras had never protected Quinn from Broysc when the Moff had blocked every promotion and transfer on Balmorra for a decade—why would he start now? Quinn was startled at the traitorous turn of his own thoughts—he was loyal to Baras, Baras had saved his career—what was he thinking?

Kilran regarded her for a long moment and then nodded. “Again, Warrior, I am impressed by your loyalty to the Empire above all else. You could have simply killed the man and thrown him out the airlock—most Sith would have done so in your place. Very well.” He turned to the handcuffed old man, who was screaming in silence. “Moff Broysc, I hereby strip you of your command. You will retire effective immediately, and if I hear one hint of a rumor that you are interfering with Sith business again, I will have you executed. Am I understood?”

Eleanora released the man from her hold and he drew in a deep breath.

“Traitor! Liar! Impostor! You are no Grand Moff! I will serve until I die, you cannot make me—”

Kilran was very still as he absorbed the ranting abuse from the madman, then he turned to Eleanora. “Dispose of him. I will have Intelligence forge a death certificate saying that he died in his sleep from a heart condition. He will destroy his legacy if he is allowed to live, and I cannot afford any loss in morale among the soldiers at this critical time of war.”

Eleanora nodded and silenced the man again, but turned back to the Grand Moff. “Does his legacy deserve to be protected? It is built on lies and treachery, and it exists at the expense of the true hero of Druckenwell—a man who languished at a dead-end posting for over a decade because of Broysc’s incompetence.”

“Do not strain my indulgence, young Sith,” Kilran said, his voice cold. “I have given you what you asked—I will not rewrite Imperial history for one man.”

“My lord,” Quinn cut in, seeing Eleanora open her mouth to argue, “seeing Broysc brought to justice—seeing that he will never again jeopardize Imperial interests or lives is more than enough for me. If the truth about him were to become public knowledge, the Empire would suffer. My pride is not worth the Empire losing face or morale during this conflict.”

Kilran looked at him appraisingly. “You are a credit to the Empire, Captain Quinn,” he said. “Your loyalty will never be celebrated, but I will not forget it. Kilran out.” The transmission ended, leaving Quinn and Eleanora alone with Broysc, who had whipped up the spittle flying out of his mouth into a lather with the frantic movements of his mouth.

Quinn drew his pistol. “Permission to execute the Moff, my lord,” he said, blaster pressed against the man’s skull. Eleanora granted it with a nod, and he pulled the trigger. Broysc dropped to the floor, crumpling into a heap of spindly limbs. Quinn’s heart raced and he felt an enormous weight lift off of him, like some creature had been clinging to his back and dragging him down since Druckenwell and had finally released him. He stared at the body for another moment, then looked up at his lord. She was eyeing the corpse with distaste—he knew she had hoped that the Moff would accept forcible retirement, but she didn’t look surprised that he had not.

“Let’s get rid of this, Quinn,” she said, “I think Kilran had the right idea about the airlock.”

The old man’s body was light—it took no more than 3 minutes for them to move it and jettison it out into space. They resumed their course to Dromund Kaas to speak with Baras after his ascension to the Dark Council; Quinn had noted that Eleanora had wasted no time in leveraging her master’s new status to help him deal with Broysc. She had used every resource and connection she had to help him, and praised him earnestly in front of one of the most decorated, highly respected commanders in the Imperial High Command.

He was overflowing with emotion as he gazed at Eleanora—she had never seemed lovelier to him than she did now. He couldn’t stop himself as he reached out to touch her arm. She turned away from the viewscreen to look at him, and he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. He wished he was not wearing his gloves so he could feel the warmth of the exposed skin on her lower back.

“Permission to kiss you, my lord,” he breathed. Her face lit up with surprise, but she smiled at him, the edges of her red eyes crinkling.

“Permission granted, Captain,” she said, gripping the front of his shirt with a blue fist and pulling him to her. Their lips met and Quinn felt an electric thrill run through him. Her lips were impossibly soft on his—he threaded the fingers of his right hand into her hair as they kissed. After a few seconds he pulled back for air, and reality hit him like a Corellian freight train. He stepped back, reluctantly releasing her.

“This...my lord, I am drawn to you, make no mistake. But this should not continue, it’s improper.” His body screamed at him to stop, take her in his arms again, kiss her until they were both breathless, but he knew he couldn’t. He should never have initiated it in the first place—what was he thinking? He quickly left the cockpit, unable to face the disappointment and hurt that he knew would be written on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is either straight from the game or paraphrased, and it belongs to Bioware.


	10. In which Quinn tends to Eleanora's wounds

Eleanora lay in the medbay, Quinn at her elbow. She suppressed a hiss as he injected her damaged skin with a local anesthetic—she counted five sharp stings, one after the other—then watched as he walked to the kolto tank and began adjusting its settings. She lifted the grey surgical drape and looked down at herself—a thick line of charred black flesh snaked down her right side, marking her from shoulder to flank. Despite the heat of her seared flesh, she shivered as she clutched the smooth fabric to her chest.

The explosion on Quesh seemed like a distant memory to her, but it had occurred only that morning. She was not at all surprised that Baras would betray her. She just hadn’t been expecting it quite so soon. She had envisioned a major disagreement precipitating it: she and Baras would argue, she would defy him, he would warn her for the umpteenth time that she was straining his patience, but this time he would actually act to destroy her. Instead, Baras turned on her the moment she delivered her replacement into his hands. She should have seen it coming.

And now she was the Emperor’s Wrath, whatever that meant. She had been frank with One and Two—she was not an indiscriminate instrument of destruction. She told them that she had no great love or loyalty for the Emperor, or even the Empire in its current state. She had admitted that for the moment her goals and those of the Emperor’s Hand were aligned—Baras must be stopped. And so she had accepted the title with the same resigned pragmatism that led her into her apprenticeship with Baras.

Eleanora was pulled from her thoughts when Quinn returned to her. “My lord,” he said, “I must debride the wound before you go into the kolto tank. That’s the trouble with not being treated right away—kolto injections in the field can only do so much.”

“Debride?”

“Ah,” he said, “it means I must remove the tissue that is beyond saving to allow the kolto to penetrate deep enough to stimulate regrowth and healing.”

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have asked,” Eleanora said, pulling a face.

“The anesthetic should be quite effective, my lord,” he said. “It will not be painless, but I will do my best to minimize your discomfort. Please roll onto your side.” His voice was distant, clinical—as if he were speaking to any soldier under his medical care. She obeyed, gingerly rolling over so she faced the medbay wall, with Quinn behind her. The bed made a soft whirring sound as Quinn raised it to the appropriate height. As she craned her head to look, Eleanora saw his hands trembling as he peeled back the drape to expose her burns. She caught his right hand with her left and gave it a squeeze, trying to catch his eye, but his gaze was fixed on her wounds.

“Quinn, it’s alright,” she said, “we are both alive and whole. I will recover from this, thanks to you.”

His sharp intake of breath startled her, but he did not remove his hand from hers. “My lord, the only reason you suffered these injuries was because of me. I should have seen it coming, I knew something felt off, and—and if you had not weakened your barrier to enclose me in it, you would have suffered far less harm.”

“And how do you figure that?” she asked dryly. “The blast would have killed you, and I would be without my pilot, my tactical officer, my medical officer...without my Captain. Temporary pain seems like a more than fair trade for your life.” 

“But weakening your barrier, even for an instant, could have killed you. It was an incredible stroke of luck that the damage was not fatal,” he said, his voice strained. His hand, which had lain limp in hers, suddenly tightened into a firm grip.

“Quinn,” she said, rolling back towards him to see him better, “when will you learn to stop underestimating me?” Her voice was gentle, playful—she leaned towards him slightly, wanting to kiss him. She held back, inviting him to make the move. His eyes flicked from hers down to her mouth, and his lips parted. But then he pulled back, released her hand, and reached towards his supplies. Eleanora turned back towards the wall, her face hot with embarrassment. She felt his hand, now gloved, firmly clamp down on her shoulder above the burns.

“Hold as still as you can, my lord,” he said, sliding the scalpel blade into her blackened flesh.

About 45 minutes later, Quinn was cleaning his instruments and Eleanora was stepping into the kolto tank. Once she was inside and the safety straps were hooked under her arms, Quinn sealed it and set it to fill. She adjusted the loose-fitting medical undergarments as the kolto climbed past her knees. Her side ached—the debridement had been unpleasant, to say the least, but the anesthetic made it bearable. She wondered how severe the scarring would be. She let out a hiss as the kolto hit the raw skin on her thigh, but once the initial sting faded it felt cool and comforting. When the clear greenish liquid reached her neck and her feet left the bottom of the tank, it stopped rising.

“Two hours should do it, my lord,” Quinn said, watching her through the tank wall. She nodded. “I must go and plot our course to Belsavis, among other duties. If you need me, use the emergency button to call.” He gestured to the small red button on the inside of the tank.

Eleanora watched the man walk out of the medbay, his posture rigid. Their interactions had been strictly professional since their kiss in the cockpit. Quinn hadn’t been avoiding her like after their misadventures on Hoth—instead, he was acting like nothing had happened at all. She had been surprised that day when he had pulled her to him and even more so when he asked to kiss her. But he seemed to be warring with himself still—was it really just the impropriety? Or was it her age? The fact that she wasn’t human? Or the way she defied every order she disagreed with? She thought that it was likely some combination of all of the above.

She knew their mission to Belsavis would be difficult—and she knew she wanted him by her side there. Each member of her crew had unique skills suited to different situations, but more and more she found herself relying on Quinn in the field. Her missions were becoming increasingly dangerous, so it made perfect sense that her medic would accompany her. However, she had to admit—if only to herself—that no small part of her decision to bring him was that Quinn had utterly captivated her. She felt safer, more confident with him there.

When he came back, he surveyed the readings on the monitor before setting the tank to drain. “You will need to rest for a few days, my lord,” he said as he carried over a large white towel. “By the time we reach Belsavis, you should be fit to return to duty.” His voice was calm, detached. The tank popped open once the last of the kolto drained and Eleanora stepped out. Quinn draped the towel around her shoulders and she pulled it around herself gratefully—the tank had been a pleasant temperature, but the cool air of the medbay made her wet skin tighten into gooseflesh. She dried herself off as best as she could while avoiding her damaged skin, then tossed the towel aside and wrapped herself in the robe that Quinn handed her as he flushed and looked away. She reached inside the soft cloth and ran an experimental finger down her side.

“Fuck,” she gasped, flinching away from her own touch. The skin was hypersensitive and raw, and it felt uneven.

“Careful, my lord,” Quinn said, “the new skin will be very sensitive. Just a moment.” He walked to the table and retrieved a small glass jar. “You should apply this gel to the area every few hours until it fully heals—it will help with scarring, as well.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the jar from him. She shrugged the robe off of her shoulder and surveyed the wound—the skin was a darker blue than the rest of her, and it had a faint shine. Quinn inspected her as well, and gently felt the scar with one fingertip. She shuddered, but allowed him to continue his assessment. Fatigue suddenly struck her, and she took a few stumbling steps towards the hospital bed, unsteady as a newborn deer. Quinn was at her side, grabbing her good arm and helping her to sit down.

“Exhaustion is quite common after time in the kolto tank,” he said, lifting her legs one at a time onto the bed. “And, I daresay, after surviving explosions and saving the life of your captain.”

“Quinn, was that a joke?” she said, smiling even as she fought to stay awake. A corner of his lip was quirked upwards, and his blue eyes looked at her warmly.

“I’d call it more of a quip, my lord.” He retrieved a warm grey blanket from under the bed and draped it over her—his hand lingered where he tucked the corner around her good shoulder. “I _am_ on duty, after all.”


	11. In which Quinn tries to protect himself, and Eleanora

Quinn clutched his wounded arm, heart racing. He watched as Eleanora raised her right hand, made a fist, and slammed it downwards. Darth Ekkage’s body followed, crumpling to the ground like a discarded doll. This time, the woman did not rise.

The Miralian Jedi approached as Eleanora moved closer to the fallen Sith. Ekkage stirred, groaning softly. 

“Have...have my powers waned while I languished?” The venom was gone from the Sith assassin’s voice—she sounded like a lost child.

Eleanora’s hand was raised and her purple lightsaber burned at her side, but she was holding back.

“My friend,” the Jedi said, “help me reseal her into her bonds.”

Quinn watched his lord’s face—her brow was furrowed, her eyes half-closed. She was considering it. Quinn normally objected to her soft-hearted mercy in situations like these, but in this case, he desperately hoped she would spare the woman. He shuddered to think of Baras’ rage if his sister were to fall to his former apprentice.

“I’d prefer not to kill her, but I can’t accept the possibility that Baras will release her. If his lackey Melicoste made it in here, so can any number of Baras’ servants,” Eleanora said, raising her hand once more.

“It’s not right to kill an unarmed opponent,” the Jedi pleaded, “I know you’re not like the other Sith. I can feel the light in you. Don’t do this.”

She dropped her hand and turned to Timmns. 

“You asked me before why I don’t leave the Empire and join the Jedi. This is why.”

Her voice was even, as if she were lecturing at the Academy and not about to snap the neck of her enemy. 

“You would leave her here because you can’t stomach killing her, and you’d leave filled with the warm reassurance that you did the right thing. But you don’t consider what happens later due to your inaction,” she said, her voice becoming lower, more urgent. “When Baras releases her, she will bring unimaginable suffering to the people of the Republic and Empire alike. She is personally responsible for the deaths of thousands—how many more will she brutalize because of her long, humiliating captivity? Sacrificing one killer to spare thousands of innocents is the only ethical choice.”

The Jedi was silent.

Quinn was breathless—he was utterly captivated by her passion. He very nearly forgot that he wanted her to spare Ekkage. Nearly.

“My lord,” he said, “I may be able to damage the locking mechanism, render it unable to be unlocked. She would be trapped here in stasis for as long as this prison stands.”

Eleanora turned her red gaze to him.

“Do it,” she said. “As long as you can assure me that she will never escape. That’s what matters.” Her eyes fell to the arm he was cradling against his chest. “You’re hurt,” she said, her brow furrowing as she trotted towards him. Her hands moved over his arm, gently peeling back the sleeve to see.

“She reflected a blaster bolt back at me,” he said, a little self-consciously. “Nothing a kolto injection can’t fix, my lord.” He couldn’t help but be touched by her worry—by that fact that this juggernaut of a woman who steamrolled everything in her way was fussing over his minor wound. He indulged himself for a moment, allowed himself to enjoy her attention and concern.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the Jedi said, “but we need to get Ekkage contained before she regains her strength.”

A surge of irritation filled Quinn, but only half of it was against Timmns—the other half was directed inward. He couldn’t afford to lose focus—not now, when his loyalty was being split between his true master and the woman he had come to respect so much. His debt to Baras was greater than he could ever repay; that was the one thing he knew for certain.

In a few minutes, Darth Ekkage was imprisoned once more, floating insensate above her platform. Timmns turned to Eleanora, his arms crossed. Quinn pulled a kolto syringe from his belt and injected it into his arm, pulling it out and squirting the last few milliliters directly onto the blaster burn.

“Well, Sith,” the Jedi said, “how does this end? Do we part as friends or as enemies?”

Eleanora gave Timmns a little smile and approached him, proffering her open hand. The Jedi shook it, relief loosening his movements.

“You’ve made things a lot more complicated and less clear for me,” the Miralian said, shaking his head. “I can tell you one thing, though—I won’t forget you.”

“I hope we meet again,” she said.

Quinn certainly did not share that hope. He and Eleanora made it back to the ship without incident—they were both pleased to be leaving the prison planet. He took a shower and finished cleaning up his arm, then reported to the cockpit while Eleanora spoke with the Emperor’s Hand. He was considering his next communication to Lord Baras when he heard her footsteps coming down the short hallway.

“My lord,” he said, bowing. “What is our next destination?” He straightened to attention and clasped his hands behind his back, but turned his head to look at her.

“Hoth,” she said, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. The lighting in the cockpit was dim, as always, but he thought he detected a dusky blush across her cheeks and neck. He felt heat flow into his own face at the memories of their first disastrous visit to that damned icebox of a planet.

“My lord,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “I will set the course.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said. He bowed, and returned to his rigid stance. She stood next to him for a few more moments, gazing out at a nearby star. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to look at him.

He continued to gaze forward. He could not give in to his desires, no matter how he wanted to. Especially now, when he knew his master would call on him to act in the near future. He could not be that selfish—not to her.

He heard her footsteps retreating, and he tightened his grip on his wrist until it ached.


	12. In which Eleanora tends to Quinn's wounds

Eleanora was reeling. The moment that Draahg fell into the fire and began to scream, she pushed aside her exhaustion and raced to her fallen companions. “Jaesa!” she barked, “see to Vette and Pierce.” She had brought the Jedi apprentice with her to Hoth, unable to face the planet with Quinn—and now her Captain lay unmoving on the floor of the hangar. She knelt by his side and checked his vitals.

“I’m ok,” Vette groaned from under a pile of twisted metal beams, “but Pierce and Quinn fought. Made Draahg mad. Jaesa, help them.”

Eleanora let out a muffled cry of relief when she felt Quinn’s pulse beating against her thumb as she pressed it into the hollow of his neck. She could see bruises forming around his throat—Draahg must have Force-choked him until he passed out. He was still unconscious, his mouth hanging open and his dark eyelashes fluttering every so often.

“Vette, what happened?” she asked as she raised a trembling hand and used the Force to lift the metal scrap off the Twi’lek. Normally the effort would be trivial, but she had used much of her strength against Draahg. She heard a low groan and saw Pierce sitting up with Jaesa’s help. Everyone was alive. Tears stung her eyes, but she pushed them away—now wasn’t the time.

“He ambushed us. And without you, we stood no chance. He knocked me down—ripped a fire escape off the wall and dropped it on me. Pierce charged at him and Quinn started shooting. He threw Pierce into a wall—he didn’t get back up. Quinn held out for a few more seconds, but once that guy’s full attention was on him, it was over,” Vette breathed as she slowly climbed to her feet. “Hit him in the back with his lightsaber and then choked him out. Draahg was talking to him while he choked him, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.”

Eleanora gently rolled Quinn onto his side, making sure his head rested straight so his breathing wouldn’t be obstructed. His uniform was burned in a long line at an angle across his back, and she could see dark red flesh underneath. She could imagine the brutal overhand strike from the large Sith that would have made the mark—but how was Quinn still alive? He should have been cut in half, if the strength of the blows she had parried while dueling with Draahg was any indication. 

She fumbled with Quinn’s belt and removed a kolto injection, and then several more. She injected him twice in the back near the wound, but she was afraid to go any closer to his spine with the needle. Eleanora moved around to the other side of him and touched his face, stroked his hair. She didn’t care that everyone could see her—she suspected they all knew about her affection for him anyway.

“Quinn,” she said, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Quinn. Please wake up.” His eyelashes fluttered, and she saw his mouth move, opening and closing slightly. She sat him up a bit, careful not to put pressure on his back, and cradled his head to her breast. “Quinn,” she said again, smoothing down his hair. “Malavai,” she said, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. “Wake up. We need to go.”

His eyes moved under his eyelids, and after a few moments they opened a crack. He blinked, brow furrowing, and his mouth pulled into a grimace. His blue eyes were half-open and unfocused, but he was coming around.

“Malavai,” she said again. She reached out with the Force as she touched his cheek, and found that his customary mental barrier was gone. She felt his confusion, his pain, his fear—it threatened to overwhelm her, but she continued to reach and dig through his emotions until her mind suddenly touched his. He lurched in her arms and his eyes were open, focusing on her face. He tried to speak, but only made a wheezing sound.

She let out the breath she had been holding and smiled in one relieved motion. “I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “We have to go, Quinn,” she said, “I pushed Draahg into the fire but the screaming has stopped. He’s either dead or escaped, and either way we need to leave. Can you stand?”

Quinn tried to speak again, but winced and let out a choked breath before nodding weakly. He grabbed her arm firmly and she felt his legs moving, bearing him upwards, and she stood with him. He leaned on her as they shuffled towards the ship, but she was so tired. She heard the engine roar to life—Vette must have gone inside first. Pierce walked slowly up the ramp, clutching his ribs. Jaesa saw them struggling and ran to help, slipping her arm through Quinn’s free one.

“TooVee!” Eleanora yelled as they crossed the threshold, “get us out of here!”

“Affirmative, master!” the shrill electronic voice answered.

“Help me get him into the medbay,” she said to Jaesa. They half-walked, half-carried Quinn into the small room and helped him sit on one of the beds. Pierce followed them in, but instead of sitting in the other bed he walked to the cabinet and rummaged through the bottles, knocking a few down in the process.

“Pierce, you need treatment too,” Eleanora said as she grabbed a jar of kolto gel.

“Nah,” the big man growled, “just a few cracked ribs. And a splitting headache. Kolto and painkillers is all I need.” He held up the bottle of painkillers as he walked out the door.

Eleanora returned to Quinn, who was slumped against the back of the bed, half-upright. He tried to speak again, but it proved to be too much. He pointed to a cabinet and Jaesa opened it—it was full of bottles of medication.

“Which one?” she asked, faced with at least two dozen options.

Eleanora looked around and saw Quinn’s datapad abandoned on the table. She grabbed it and pressed it into his hands. He seized it and began typing furiously. He handed the pad back to her.

    2mL dexamethasone  
30mL injectable kolto  
3mL gabapentin  
get IV pump, IV catheter, bag of fluids, gauze, bandage wrap

Eleanora and Jaesa grabbed the various items, bringing them all to Quinn. With trembling hands he drew up the injections and put them into the fluids. He guided the needle into a vein on his left arm with his right hand, then wrapped it with the bandage. Jaesa hung the fluid bag on the pump and Quinn threaded the line through and programmed the machine. He hit the start button and lay back down, struggling for breath.

Eleanora wanted to hold him and gentle him, but now that her initial panic had passed, she was aware that she shouldn’t touch him that way without his consent. She started to reach out, then dropped her hand back down; the instinct was hard to quell.

As the minutes passed, Quinn’s breath came easier. Eleanora watched as he began to inhale and exhale more deeply.

“Jaesa, can you patch Vette up? I know she has some scrapes and bruises,” she said, looking at Quinn. “I think we’re okay in here.”

Quinn nodded, and Jaesa grabbed a few things and walked out to find Vette.

“And check on Pierce, would you? Make sure he’s still breathing,” Eleanora called.

“I will, master,” Jaesa said.

Eleanora walked to her quarters and changed into her sleeping shirt and leggings, relieved to be out of the clothes that reeked of smoke and blood. She returned to the medbay and sat on the hospital bed opposite Quinn’s. She just needed to rest for a moment, she was so tired. She watched Quinn as he lay on his side, eyes closed—his breathing was deep and even. She lay her head on her arm and was asleep within moments.

  


* * *

  


She awoke to a soft sound—a male grunt of pain. _Quinn_. She sat up abruptly, looking over at him. To her relief he was sitting up on his own, but he was struggling to remove his uniform shirt. He had it off his right arm, but it was wrapped around his neck and he couldn’t lift it higher.

“Quinn, wait,” she said, “let me help you.”

He stopped. She grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and began to cut up the sleeve he had rolled up to put in the IV. She sat behind him on the bed as she worked.

“It’s ruined anyway,” she said matter-of-factly when she saw his raised eyebrows. “Knowing you though, you have 6 more in your closet, neatly pressed and ready to go.” She gave him a small smile and he rolled his eyes at her.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she said as she peeled the fabric off. “I should have done this hours ago, I hope it’s not stuck because of me—”

“My lord,” he croaked. His voice was gravelly and rough—like a man three times his age. “You were spent. You needed rest.”

She managed to remove all of his shirt except the parts that appeared to be stuck to his skin.

“Quinn,” she said, “it’s stuck to the burn. What do I do?”

“Wet the fabric and peel it off,” he ground out, “carefully. No way around it.”

She soaked the fabric with warm water and gripped his shoulder with one hand and began pulling the remains of his uniform off with the other. It wasn't as bad as it looked—most of the fabric was not actually attached—just a few pieces were stuck to dried blood or skin. She removed it as carefully as she could, and after a very tense few minutes, the last bit came off. Eleanora immediately began applying the kolto gel to the long, straight line of the burn.

The man sighed with relief as the kolto gel eased the pain of the burn. He relaxed into her hands as she rubbed the gel in. She tried not to think about how pleasantly smooth his undamaged skin felt under her fingers—and how his muscles rippled under his skin as he moved. Eleanora noted the freckles that splayed across his shoulders and upper back—human skin was so interesting. She found the little spots as endearing as the marks on his cheek. But as her mind continued to wander, the guilt of knowing that she was the reason he was hurt abruptly anchored her thoughts in reality. The burn was coated, so she started to apply the gel to the dark, ugly bruises beginning to form around his neck. She was as gentle as she could be, trying not to put any pressure on the discolored skin.

“Quinn,” she said, “when—when I saw you laying there on the ground, I thought the worst. I knew Baras would betray me and try to have me killed, and my biggest fear has been that my crew would be collateral damage. And it happened." Her voice fell on the last syllable, too thick with emotion to remain steady. Her eyes stung. "This is all my fault. None of you would have been attacked if it wasn't for me."

  


Quinn turned around so she could access the marks in front. She kept her eyes on her work as her fingers delicately traced across the marred skin of his throat.

"I should have been with you, I should have protected you all—I almost—you almost—"

Quinn closed his fingers around her hand and held it against himself, stroking her hand with his thumb.

“My lord,” he murmured hoarsely, “it would take much more than Lord Draahg to take me from you.” He leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek, and she felt a flush of warm excitement spread across her skin. As he sat back, she caught a glimpse of the small smile on his lips. Impulsively she moved forward and captured his mouth with hers, pouring her helplessness, her fear, her relief into the kiss. He didn’t pull away, but he also didn’t respond. She broke away and moved back—she didn’t understand, she thought he wanted her, but—

Her thoughts were interrupted when Quinn slipped his arms around her and pulled her back, pressing his lips against hers. She made a soft noise of surprise as he threaded his fingers into her hair—the feeling of his fingernails gently raking her scalp sent pleasant shivers down her spine. She wanted to hold him as well, but she was afraid to touch his back or his neck. She settled for cradling the side of his face with one hand and resting the other on his hip.

Eleanora ran her thumb down his cheek and under his ear, dragging her nail gently along the skin. He gasped and they both took a moment to breathe before they crashed back together again. She ran her tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, and when he opened his mouth she invaded it. She heard his sharp intake of breath through his nose at the sensation of their tongues meeting—it sent a thrill down through her body into her core.

He ran his hand down the curve of her back, pulling her flush against him. Her breasts pushed up against his bare chest, separated only by the fabric of her top, and he suddenly broke away.

“My lord,” he said. His lips were swollen and his eyes looked oddly dark—his pupils had nearly swallowed his blue irises. A deep flush colored his cheeks. Eleanora wanted to grab hold of him with both hands and push him down on the bed. She wanted to climb on top of him and rock her hips into his and hear him moan underneath her. But there was an IV line coming out of his arm and he had been hit with a lightsaber and nearly choked to death only hours earlier. He needed to rest—and frankly, so did she.

She stood up and helped him lay down, then pressed her lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. He rested his hand on her neck and ran his thumb down her skin, tracing the delicate hollow of her throat. He smiled at her, the edges of his eyes crinkling—his pointed features and the smug upturn of his lips made him look like a satisfied cat. She told him to call her if he needed anything and walked back to her room. As exhausted as she was, she couldn’t stop smiling to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to those who have left kudos or comments--it really makes my day to see that someone liked something I made. Criticism is also welcome!


	13. In which Quinn and Eleanora are set upon a collision course

“It seems our enemy knows you live. We have lost the advantage of surprise,” the hologram of Servant One said to Eleanora. “Though how he came by this information, we do not know. Have you been monitoring transmissions aboard your ship?”

“The leak did not come from my ship,” Eleanora said, her eyes narrowing. “I trust my crew. I don’t need to micromanage them and invade their privacy.” She was angry at even the suggestion—with the things her crew had been through together, she knew that they stood with her against Baras.

“And yet, Baras appears to have known almost immediately that you survived the assassination attempt,” Servant One said evenly, giving a pointed look around the room at each of her companions. Vette watched him from her position against the wall, picking at her nails. Jaesa stood impassively while Quinn and Pierce both stiffened at the implication. Her captain raised his head and set his jaw—Eleanora wanted to press kisses along that sharp line, feel the prickle of his five o’clock shadow against her skin. But she had to focus at the moment.

“He’s a spymaster, information is his specialty. Any number of people on Belsavis or Hoth could have seen me and reported back to him. I’m not easy to miss—Chiss are rare enough outside of Csilla, and very few wield lightsabers," Eleanora said.

Servant One raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “That is true enough,” he said. “Regardless of how he knows, he knows. And now you must act to disrupt the next stage of his plans.”

Servant One briefed her on Voss, with the occasional cryptic non-sequitur from Servant Two. When the holocall ended, she asked Quinn to set a course. When he returned, they gathered in the conference room and began to plan the mission.

“You’re walking into a completely unknown situation,” Pierce said, “you’re going to need more than kolto injections and light combat support.” The big man ignored the acidic glare from Quinn and continued. “I should go with you.”

“I appreciate the thought, Lieutenant,” Eleanora said, “but you’ve got three fractured ribs, not to mention the concussion.” She saw the man open his mouth to object and cut him off. “No, Pierce, listen—I need you in fighting shape as soon as possible. We are going to be moving against Baras in a more direct way after this mission, and if your injuries get worse, you’ll be sidelined for even longer when I need you the most. Is that what you want?”

Pierce looked like he wanted to argue and crossed his arms over his chest—then his face drained of all its color and he quickly dropped his arms back to his sides. “Hate to admit it, but you’re right, boss,” he grunted, “just can’t stand sitting here, idle.”

“So don’t be idle,” Eleanora said, “don’t you have contacts—old squad members, people you trust—on Corellia? Couldn’t you make some calls and see what kind of information you can gather?”

“Reckon I could do that,” Pierce mused. “Consider it done, boss.”

“Good,” Eleanora said, flashing him a smile. He nodded at her and walked out.

She turned to her apprentice. “Jaesa, I want you with me for this mission. If I’m dealing with mystics and Force-users, I’m going to need you.”

“Yes, master,” Jaesa said, inclining her head. “I am very curious to meet the Voss. I will go prepare.” The former Jedi headed back to the crew quarters.

“What about me and Captain Protocol?” Vette asked, gesturing sideways to Quinn with a thumb. Quinn narrowed his eyes at the moniker but looked to Eleanora for an answer. She held his gaze, lowering her eyelids slightly—he flushed and looked away. 

“Vette, I want you on supplies. Figure out how much of our medical supplies and ammunition we’ve used and order what we need—we’ll stop at the Fleet after Voss.”

“I’m on it, Nora! I’ll get the best prices I can find,” the Twi’lek said, shamelessly reaching into Eleanora’s rear pocket for her credit chip and slipping it out. “And that way we can get some Corellian whiskey…”

“You better save me some,” Eleanora said as the Vette slipped from the room.

“And me, my lord?” Quinn said, standing at rigid attention, as always. The bruises around his throat had faded after a few days of treatment, but he looked wan. Dark circles hung below his eyes and she could see a muscle in his jaw moving. Eleanora cast a glance to each side, confirming that the room was now empty before skirting around the table and closing the gap between them in a few strides.

Quinn took a step backward, but Eleanora grabbed the front of his uniform shirt and pulled him into a kiss. He made a soft noise against her lips and she felt his hand against her shoulder, sliding down her back, settling on her hip—his touch was light, hesitant. She kissed his cheek, the side of his angular jaw, the stubble rough against her lips. When her mouth brushed his neck just under his jawbone, she could feel his pulse leaping against her. He released the breath he had been holding and his fingers tightened, grabbing a handful of the curve of her hip. She made a pleased sound and kissed further down his neck as his heart thumped against her hand. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Quinn’s face as he raised his head and exposed more skin for her to explore. His brow was furrowed and his cheeks were flushed—he looked almost pained. When she reached the side of his throat, she scraped her teeth against his skin and was rewarded with a ragged gasp. Eleanora smiled against him, then pulled his flesh between her lips and sucked.

Quinn groaned—the vibrations resonated through his throat against her mouth, and sent a thrill down into her belly— and she found her hips pulled flush against his. Her heart raced as her mouth worked against his neck and shivers of pleasure shot down her spine as his free hand wound its way into her hair.

“M—my lord,” he gasped, “I—I cannot advise—that—we continue this.” The hand on her hip slid further back, grabbing her ass, and she moaned against his skin. “If—if—we were involved—and—one of our lives—were to become—forfeit, the other w—wouldn’t be able to act. It’s—it’s too great a risk.”

She released his skin and kissed the rapidly darkening spot before nuzzling her face against his cheek.

“You’re wrong, Quinn,” she said against his ear, slipping her arm around his back and squeezing him. “Our feelings will make us stronger—stronger together.” She nipped his earlobe and his hand tightened in her hair.

“I—I am growing open to the idea, my lord,” he said, but his voice seemed oddly flat. As she stepped back and looked up into his face, she took him in—his skin was flushed, his pupils blown, his lips slightly parted. But there was some emotion she couldn’t quite identify in his eyes.

“What is it, Quinn?” she asked, moving a hand to his neck and running her thumb along his tense jaw.

“I am concerned about your mission, my lord,” he said, “Lieutenant Pierce and I do not often agree, but it is true that the situation is almost completely unknown. I am...I am unable to make any useful predictive analyses.”

She leaned in and kissed him as a surge of affection for him welled up in her chest. He was worried—of course he was. His mouth moved gently against hers. He broke away and brushed his lips across her forehead.

“Don’t worry, Quinn. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, releasing his hold on her and stepping away. He picked up his datapad from the table and made to leave.

“Wait,” she said, and he stopped and turned to her.

“I do actually have a task for you, Quinn. I need you to sweep the ship for bugs again. I know you check regularly, but we have to be sure.”

“Of course, my lord,” he said, bowing slightly before pivoting and walking out the door.

  


* * *

  


Quinn followed Eleanora as she stalked into the conference room. The scent of Voss clung to her—spices and earth and the faint scent of decay. He could tell she was disturbed—she walked stiffly, shoulders rigid, instead of her usual sauntering gait. She turned to look at him, her red eyes glowing in the low light.

“Baras’ ambition knows no bounds,” she said. “I believe he may be the consummate Sith,” she added, in a conversational tone. “I keep thinking even a member of the Dark Council would never dare to betray and usurp the Emperor, but I suppose it just comes with the territory.”

“Lord Baras has always been two steps ahead of everyone else, my lord,” Quinn said. His chest was tight as he watched her sit and lean back in her chair—the strands of silvery hair that framed her face bobbed with the movement and her neck arched as she turned to watch Jaesa and Vette enter the room. 

The sight of Eleanora’s apprentice made beads of cold sweat gather on his temples and his hands. He had been able to mostly conceal his feelings from the average Sith, and even had some control over what Lord Baras could see, but he knew Jaesa’s ability would cut through his deception in an instant.

Pierce walked in last. The man’s eyes roamed over Eleanora, scanning her for injuries. Pierce must have felt Quinn's scrutiny, because the man turned to look at him next. Quinn watched as the lieutenant's eyes fell to the love bite Eleanora had left on his neck, then moved back up to meet his gaze. In spite of everything, Quinn couldn’t help but stand a little taller, couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that he knew was coming into his features. Pierce looked away, sullen and tense.

Then Quinn turned back to his lord and the elation turned to lead, sinking deep into his stomach and making him feel ill. She was speaking now, briefing them on Baras’ plot to trap the true Voice of the Emperor and claim his place. Quinn was not surprised by the cunning and foresight of his master—Baras never made a move that was not carefully considered and executed with precision. There was no sense in opposing him—no sense in defying him.

“The Hand says that Darth Vowrawn is the only thing stopping Baras from declaring himself the Voice of the Emperor. He’s dispatched an unknown number of assassins to take Vowrawn out. We will stop by the Fleet on our way to Corellia,” Eleanora said. “I want everyone to resupply—get everything you need, and everything you think we might need. This is the last big push against Baras—we need to be ready.”

Quinn walked into the medbay once the briefing was over. He locked the door behind him and pulled up the calculations on his datapad—ran the numbers a few more times. The red light on the comms panel flashed twice; his listening device was picking up audio in the conference room. He entered a command code and heard Eleanora’s voice.

“Look, I know what Madaga-Ru said. I just don’t think the betrayal is going to come from anyone here. Hell, we know nothing about One and Two—they could both be agents of Baras.”

“But master,” Jaesa said, her voice firm, “we could be certain of that if you allowed me to use my power. Say the word, and I will rule out everyone on board as a suspect and we can move on to other possibilities.”

Fear coiled in Quinn’s belly—fear and anticipation. Jaesa’s words were sensible, pragmatic. Some part of him wanted to be caught—wanted to be stopped. He pushed that part of himself down and away.

“Jaesa’s right,” Vette said. “Start with me, I volunteer. Search me, I have nothing to hide.”

“No,” Eleanora said sharply. “No, I don’t need you to search Vette’s feelings, Jaesa. I know how Vette feels because she tells me, and I trust that she tells me the truth. If I violate that trust by reaching and taking what is not mine to take, then I don’t deserve it. And that goes for everyone on board this ship.”

Quinn sagged with relief, desperately grateful for his lord’s naivety. He dug around inside himself and uprooted every place where she had begun to grow through the cracks in his walls. He needed to be focused—needed to be clear for his final task. He should never have allowed her to gain purchase where she did—but he had been unable to stop himself, unable to resist her. His life was rigidly ruled by discipline, but she had a way of making him break his own rules with just a look or a touch. If she had come to him with arrogance, threats, and cruelty, as he had expected from any apprentice of Lord Baras, it would have been easy to keep her at a distance. But her kindness was disarming—her gentleness and restrained strength enthralled him. His mind wandered back to Hoth—to the feeling of his head pillowed on her breast and neck as she sheltered him from the worst of the cold. His eyes stung suddenly, and he wiped them with a vicious swipe of his hand.

He stood, clutching his datapad. It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out--I got bitten pretty badly at work and I've had very little use of my dominant hand (cat bites are serious!). It's better today though, so I'm going to start working on the next chapter. My poor, dear Eleanora...


	14. In which Eleanora is betrayed

“My lord,” Quinn said, “I’m afraid we cannot head straight to Corellia at this time. The Empire has enacted a martial law blockade of the entire system.”

“What?” Eleanora said, taken aback. “Is there any way around it?”

“The entire fleet has been equipped with special transponder signal emitters. Any ship without a transponder will stick out like a sore thumb,” Quinn said.

Pierce crossed his arms, looking at Quinn. “I haven’t heard anything about this from my contacts on Corellia.” The man’s skepticism was palpable.

“I doubt you would have, Lieutenant,” Quinn said coolly, “I’ve intercepted Baras’ personal transmissions. He has just recently issued the order—most likely to impede our journey to Corellia.”

“Well, Quinn, what can we do?” Eleanora watched as her captain turned his attention back to her, his blue eyes meeting hers evenly. He always had an answer, an anecdote, or analysis for any situation. She fully expected that he would present a solution, so she was not surprised when he did.

“Fortunately for us, my lord, there is a class A dreadnaught nearby that has just received Corellia clearance—and therefore, a transponder.”

“Lucky us,” Pierce said, arms still crossed. “They won’t give it up without a fight without a lawful order. We’re gonna have to go in guns blazing. A lot of Imperials will die.”

“I want casualties kept to an absolute minimum,” Eleanora said. “Enough people have suffered and died because of Baras’ overestimated self-importance.”

“My lord,” Quinn said, “if I may suggest—I know the schematics of class A dreadnaughts by heart. If I accompany you, we can take the least manned paths and go directly to the transponder station, minimizing any combat.” He stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. 

Eleanora smiled at him. “What would I do without you, Quinn?” Her tone was flippant, but the question was real. Quinn flushed a little and looked away.

“I am only doing my duty, my lord,” he said, dipping his head to avoid her gaze. Were they back to this again? She thought they had made progress moving past his reflexive deference.

“Let’s go,” she said. She turned to the lieutenant. “Pierce, I want you to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. There may be pursuit once we acquire the transponder.”

“Yes, my lord,” Pierce said, straightening. “Be careful out there.”

  


* * *

  


Quinn infiltrated the ship and Eleanora followed, sticking to the routes he had designated as safest. They only encountered a few engineers and patrols—so far, they had been successful in incapacitating the soldiers. He felt her eyes on him but was careful never to meet her gaze—he knew she would see the stress and guilt radiating out of him. And, if he was honest with himself, he feared that his resolve would waver if he truly looked at her.

When the doors of the transponder station slid shut behind him, Quinn clasped his hands behind his back—partly to stand at attention but mostly to stop their obvious trembling.

“My lord,” he began, “I’m afraid that our paths must diverge. Out of respect, I felt I needed to be here to witness your fate.” The carefully rehearsed lines sounded hollow, flat. He turned to face her—he owed her that much.

“My fate?” she said, her pace faltering and eyebrows furrowing. “What are you talking about, Quinn?” She looked confused, but not yet fearful—his heart clenched as he realized how far outside the realm of possibility his treachery was to her. She trusted him.

“It pains me, but I’m afraid this entire scenario is a ruse. There’s no martial law and no signal emitter. Baras is my true master. He directed me to lure you here to have you killed.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He should feel triumphant, proud of being faithful to his master in spite of his feelings for Eleanora, but he felt empty.

Eleanora stared at him, her expression blank. “How—how could you do this to me?” Her voice quavered, but only a little. “I—I thought we cared for each other. I thought—I thought this meant something.” The words twisted in his heart like a knife, but he had prepared for them.

“This isn’t about me or you. It’s about Lord Baras. I act today with a heavy heart—I have enjoyed your company and companionship, my lord—”

“Shut up,” she hissed, cutting him off. “Shut the fuck up with that. I don’t want to hear the bullshit you composed. Have the decency to be honest with me.” Quinn flinched—she was always more perceptive than he anticipated. He found himself groping around for a response.

“I didn’t—I didn’t want to choose between you,” he said, and it was the truth. “He’s forced my hand, and I must side with him.”

“Quinn,” she said, taking a step closer to him. “I can’t believe you’d be this foolish—this wrong. You know Baras is only out for himself. He was going to let you die on Quesh!” Her voice was desperate, pleading. He took a step back—he knew if he let her reach him, he would fail.

“No, my lord,” he said, “I owe Lord Baras more than you can imagine. I would gladly give my life in his service. Baras has always been the anchor of my career, and in my opinion, the Empire.”

“Quinn,” she said again, “don’t do this. Turn back now, we can talk about this. Please.” Her voice had grown thick with emotion by the last of her words. He knew he was hearing her heart break. His chest felt like a great hand was squeezing it. He wanted nothing more than to do as she asked. He had to cut this conversation off, had to do it now. He pressed the button to open the bay doors, revealing the war droids.

“After all this time observing you in battle, I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses. These war droids have been specifically programmed to combat you.” He was sticking to his script, clinging to it like a life preserver. His heart was racing.

Eleanora let out a bark of derisive laughter. “Droids, Quinn? Really? After nearly a year of fighting by my side, you think a pair of droids are going to kill me?” The gentleness was gone from her face now—with her dark expression and glowing red eyes, she truly looked like the Sith lord she was.

“I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure,” he said, hands still clutched behind his back.

“Oh, Quinn,” she said, sorrowful once more, “have you learned nothing? You know I’m the one variable you can never pin down.” He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of every joke, every gently teasing remark she had made about him and his calculations. He pushed aside the warm memories that had threatened to surface. When he opened his eyes, she was still standing there, watching. Waiting.

“I’m sorry that it has come to this, my lord,” he said, drawing his blaster. The droids moved in on his signal. Eleanora bowed her head, hiding her face in shadow. He was grateful—it made his next move easier. He readied himself, and aimed a shot at her leg. The moment his finger twitched on the trigger, the blaster was ripped out of his hand with such force that sharp pain shot through his hand. As his lord made a fist, his blaster crumpled into a ball and fell to the floor, useless.

In a blur of motion and the flash of a bright purple blade, both droids were on the ground, sparking and twitching, and Quinn was on his back on the floor, stunned. Eleanora was on top of him, her foot planted firmly on his chest.

“You fool,” she said, her voice flat. She was not gloating—she did not look at all pleased with her nearly instant victory.

“I should have known,” he said. He felt numb, hollow. He knew that she was unstoppable—but he also knew he had no choice but to carry out his master’s orders. He was prepared to die. One of the droids twitched violently. Eleanora glanced at it, but turned back to him when it was still once more.

“Yes, you should have,” she said.

“I have betrayed you,” he choked out, “conspired with your most hated enemy. I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret. I don’t expect your mercy.” He didn’t deserve mercy. But he knew at least that she would give him a quick death—a kindness that Baras would never have provided. His heart was racing, his body instinctively panicking even though his mind accepted his fate. How could he have been so wrong?

“I’m not going to kill you, captain,” she said, removing her boot from his chest. He sat up in shock, his palms planted flat on the ground. Adrenaline pumped through his veins—his pulse was nearly deafening in his ears as his body realized the anticipated blow had not come. How could she let him live after this? Each breath that filled his lungs felt like a gift that was undeserved.

“I—I am deeply grateful, my lord,” he said, his voice sounding weaker than he anticipated. “Lord Baras would never afford the same forgiveness.” He was overwhelmed—his heart continued to race and his stomach turned.

She looked at him sharply, her face hard. “I said nothing about forgiveness.” Her voice and expression were that of a stranger—of some cold, nameless Sith.

Quinn flushed in shame, the color burning on his cheeks at his presumption. He opened his mouth to apologize when a sharp, repetitive sound began to echo in the transponder station. Quinn glanced around, but couldn’t isolate the source of the noise. It grew louder, more clear.

It was applause, slow and mocking.

“What a performance,” a deep male voice said, “really, both of you. I couldn’t have asked for more. You especially, Captain Quinn.”

A hulking figure entered Quinn’s line of sight, but there was something off about the way the man moved. As the man came closer and turned to face him, Quinn found himself looking into the scarred face of Lord Draahg. He was at least half cybernetic—the fire on the Hoth orbital station had ravaged his body.

“Draahg,” Eleanora said, drawing her lightsaber once more. “I wondered if you were truly dead.”

“I am very, very hard to kill,” Draahg said, drawing his own red blade. “Baras suspected that our little spy captain here would prove unfit for the job, so he sent me to make sure it was finished.”

Quinn could see the rage building in his lord. He knew he was the cause of it, but she seemed eager to direct it at a legitimate target. She had been calm when she took him down—now she was tense, tightly coiled, like a serpent ready to strike. She was losing control.

“So finish it,” Eleanora snarled, leaping at the half-machine Sith. Their blades clashed together, snapping and sparking. Draahg’s blows were elegant, graceful, practiced. Eleanora was simply wielding her lightsaber like a bludgeon—and Draahg was forced to give ground. Quinn instinctively moved towards his lord; his blaster was destroyed, but he could still provide healing support. Eleanora raised one hand, palm facing him, and a sudden force carried him backwards—not hard enough to knock him over, but her message was clear. He watched from the sidelines, helpless.

The two Sith circled each other—there was no testing, no taunting, no feints. They crashed together and moved apart like tussling wolves. Quinn could see that Draahg was beginning to falter under the unrelenting blows that Eleanora hammered down on him. Draahg’s lightsaber darted forward as the Chiss woman raised her blade for another two-handed blow. Quinn’s heart skipped a beat. The red lightsaber glanced off to the side—when he squinted, he could see the faint shimmer of Eleanora’s barrier. 

He knew her tactics when fighting an opponent with a lightsaber—she focused her barrier on the side most likely to receive a blow. It was serving her well now—she had landed several serious hits on her cybernetic opponent, while he had barely grazed her. Draahg suddenly rallied and Eleanora was now ceding ground, their lightsabers screeching and sparking as they met. Her face was pulled into a grimace, teeth bared. Quinn had never seen her like this. Draahg aimed swipes at her legs, her arms, her face—Quinn saw the shimmer of her barrier strengthen in response.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. Quinn turned his head to see the arm of one of the fallen droids raised, blaster aimed. Horror swelled within him.

“My lord!” he cried as a red blaster bolt flew towards Eleanora, followed by a second. He saw her body stiffen in shock as the bolts landed on her back—where her barrier would have been if she had not been baited into focusing it against Draahg. She staggered forward and a choked cry of pain escaped her. Quinn froze, transfixed.

Draahg wasted no time—with a gesture, he lifted Eleanora by the throat. Quinn’s military instincts finally overcame his guilt and shock; Sith target, armed, impervious to most attacks regardless of range. There was nothing he could do, so Quinn charged at him. He had no strategy, nothing in his hand but his vibroknife, but he couldn’t breathe as he watched Eleanora’s feet kick feebly in the air. Draahg made a casual tossing gesture, like he was discarding a piece of garbage. Eleanora flew across the transponder station and struck the far wall with a thud that made Quinn’s stomach drop and his knees weaken. She slid to the ground and did not move.

“No!” Quinn cried. He ran to her, fumbling at his belt for kolto, for anything, when his movement was abruptly arrested.

“Oh, no,” Draahg said, “I don’t think so, Captain. We have a few things to discuss.”

Quinn tried to free himself, but he was trapped. Guilt and fear and fury filled him—his mouth was dry, his heart raced, his stomach lurched and churned. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the limp form of his lord. Draahg’s hulking figure suddenly filled his vision—the Sith had stepped between Eleanora and Quinn.

“Now, I’m not a medical man, Captain, not like you,” the Sith said, extinguishing his red blade. “I don’t know all the right words, the correct anatomical terms, but I can give you a layman’s assessment of the situation. I threw her pretty hard. When I reach out, I can feel her blood leaking under her skin. I can feel the bones I broke, I can feel the rib I put through her lung. I can feel her heartbeat getting slower.” Draahg’s voice grew quieter with each sentence, until Quinn found himself straining to hear every word. Hatred for the man swelled in him, but his feelings could wait—what mattered was his lord. She needed him.

“But you don’t mind that I did all that, right? You’re my master’s loyal servant, you serve him, not her. After all, you lured her here to kill her. You should be thanking me for saving your botched assassination attempt,” Draahg drawled, pacing closer in a casual manner. “But, I must say, you don’t seem very grateful.”

The large man stepped into Quinn’s personal space, watching with amusement as he fought in vain to free himself. “Oh, my, Captain,” Draahg said, feigning shock, “what is this on your neck? A love bite from our dear departing Eleanora? What a memento to be left with. I wonder, will it haunt you more while you can see it, or after it fades?”

Guilt crushed his chest like a vice grip, and the Sith sensed it, smiling. It was no wonder that Baras favored Draahg—the apprentice’s cruelty and flair for the dramatic echoed his master’s. They were like children who couldn’t be satisfied with simply smashing an insect—they had to pull off each leg, rip off each wing first.

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Draahg said, “I’ll spare you from having to find out. You’ve served your purpose to us. You may have failed at your task, but your help was invaluable. I think I can even say that I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Bile rose in Quinn’s throat, his stomach roiling. His heart was still racing, his body aching with the need to be moving towards his lord, to help her.

Draahg drew his lightsaber once more, igniting the red blade with a familiar snap-hiss. He held the weapon out and touched the glowing edge to Quinn’s side—in an instant it had burned through his clothes and into skin. Quinn screamed, wanted to curl protectively over himself, wanted to move away, every instinct roared, but he was trapped. Draahg lifted the lightsaber away and Quinn gulped in a relieved breath, his chest heaving.

“Oh,” Draahg said, “I won’t draw it out for too long, but I just can’t resist.”

The blade touched the outside of his thigh next, and though Quinn tried to brace himself, another ragged cry of pain escaped his throat. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily through his nose. The lightsaber left his skin once more and he gasped, opening his eyes.

Draahg moved his arm upwards, but stopped as a purple blade erupted through his torso, carving upwards. His head, along with the top of his left shoulder, slid off of his body and hit the floor with a dull thud. Quinn fell forward as the Sith’s grip on him released. The purple lightsaber clattered to the floor and extinguished as Draahg’s body fell over.

Quinn climbed back to his feet and ran to his lord, who was attempting to call her thrown blade back with a raised hand. Her bloodied arm gave out, falling limply to the floor. When he reached her, she was unconscious once more. He scanned her: broken ribs, bradycardia, punctured lung, intracranial hemorrhage. He gave her every kolto injection that he had on his belt and fumbled for his communicator—she needed to go in the tank immediately if she was going to live.

“Pierce!” he said, “Pierce, come in!”

The lieutenant’s form materialized on the holo, arms crossed.

“I need you to get to my coordinates immediately for a medical emergency,” Quinn said. “Bring the grav stretcher and backup, we need to move quickly.”

“What the fuck happened? Where’s the boss?” Pierce demanded.

“Now!” Quinn barked, shutting off the holocom and returning his attention to Eleanora. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. He wanted to touch her, to stroke her hair, but he dared not risk further injury to her. Not after what he had done. He typed out calculation after calculation into his datapad—drug protocols and quantities, the temperature the kolto tank should be to reduce brain swelling. It felt like an eternity as he waited for the lieutenant to show up, but Quinn’s datapad marked it as less than 10 minutes before Pierce and Vette rounded the corner with the grav stretcher floating behind them.

“What happened?” Vette said, looking around at the destruction. When she saw Eleanora laying motionless on the floor, she gasped. “Nora!”

“Draahg ambushed us. No time,” Quinn said, “help me get her onto the stretcher. She has a head injury, we must lift her with extreme care.”

The journey back to the ship was tense but blessedly uneventful. Once his lord was in the medbay, Quinn set to work—he pushed his pain, his guilt, his helplessness away. He could indulge his emotions later—what he needed now was his ruthless efficiency and focus. He corrected her pneumothorax, drained the worst of the hematoma forming in her brain, and fitted her with the mask and hose. When she was finally floating in the tank, her vital signs weak but stable, Quinn allowed himself to collapse. 

He fell to his knees and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the kolto tank.

  



	15. In which Eleanora awakens

  
Wordlessly watching  
He waits by the window and wonders  
At the empty place inside  
Heartlessly helping himself to her bad dreams  
He worries  
Did he hear a goodbye? Or even hello?  
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, 1969

Quinn slumped in the chair next to his lord, resting his head in the palm of his hand. He listened to the soft sound of her breathing and lifted his head to look at her. He watched as her breast rose and fell, grateful that it was under her own power. He had been unwilling to remove her from the tank until she no longer needed ventilator support—now she lay on the medbay bed with tubes protruding from her nose.

At first, the guilt had threatened to devour him in the quiet moments where he did not have a task to occupy him. Six days later, it merely gnawed at him with a familiar ache. He had no idea how to face her. Or rather, he had a lot of ideas but all of them were utterly inadequate in conveying his sorrow and regret. What a fool he was to doubt her power, her ability to triumph over Baras. But worse than that—he had used her affection and feelings for him against her.

Eleanora twitched, one leg kicking slightly. Quinn sat up straighter, leaned in to observe. Her head tossed slightly and her face pulled into a grimace as a low cry left her mouth. Another nightmare. She had been resting peacefully since she came out of the tank on the third day, but last night she began to display brief periods of dysphoria.

“No,” she breathed, almost too softly to hear. “No, please—”

His heart sank. Her injured brain was organizing, sorting, trying to reconnect damaged pathways. But he had heard his own name among the words she had whimpered through the night. He reached out a hand and touched her hair, wanting to gentle her. He stroked the curve of her cheek, but she flinched and he withdrew the offending hand.

He increased the concentration of her fentanyl drip—she needed rest, not more bad dreams.

The medbay door chimed and slid open. Jaesa walked in, cradling a mug in her hands.

“How is she?” the apprentice asked.

“Stable,” he replied. Jaesa looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She looked back at Eleanora. He knew his odd behavior was making the crew uncomfortable—and in Pierce’s case, suspicious—but he just didn’t have the energy to keep up appearances. Not while his lord still slept. He looked at her again, at the soft curve of her cheek and the slight parting of her lips. At the bruises around her throat and face, purple and black against the dusky blue skin.

A gentle hand touched his elbow and he started, his heart leaping in his chest. As Jaesa murmured an apology, he looked down to see her offering him the mug. Fragrant steam rolled up from it—some Alderaanian blend that his lord favored.

“You need to sleep, Captain,” she said. “I’ll stay with her.”

He wanted to argue, wanted to sleep in the other medbay bed to be near her—but he didn’t deserve to be so familiar with her anymore. And he did need rest, though he doubted whether or not he could actually sleep. He gave her a weary nod, took the mug, and walked to the crew quarters. He fell asleep a few minutes later, the mug still steaming on the nightstand.

Quinn awoke to a hand frantically shaking his shoulder—Vette was leaning over him, her face tense.

“She’s waking up, I think. Or Jaesa thinks. Whatever, just come on!”

Suddenly wide awake, he rolled over and slid his feet off the side of the bed, grateful that he had accidentally fallen asleep in his uniform. They rushed to the medbay, where Jaesa stood over Eleanora. Pierce leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Eleanora was stirring, her limbs moving slowly. Quinn’s heart raced—as much as he dreaded having to face her, all he wanted right now was for her to wake up—for her to be okay. He moved to the side of the bed nearest her face. Her brow furrowed and relaxed, her lips moved. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened slightly, revealing a slit of glowing red.

She blinked once. Twice. Her expression was vacant, vaguely confused. Quinn’s heart was pounding with excitement, anticipation, fear, and dread.

“Master?” Jaesa asked, her voice soft and gentle.

“Jaesa…” Eleanora said, her brows knitting together. “What—” Her head lolled to the side—towards Quinn. He held his breath.

“Quinn?” his lord said, lifting a trembling hand towards him. He could see pain and confusion on her face, but there was affection too. He felt his chest swell with emotion—he wanted to take her offered hand and kiss it, kiss her. But he couldn’t.

He saw the very moment that she remembered—when the jumbled pieces of what happened stopped floating around and fell back into place. Her expression, open and vulnerable and needy, suddenly hardened. She jerked her hand back, nearly dislodging her IV. She sat up abruptly, or tried to, and fell back down, reeling.

Instinct overrode logic and Quinn moved to help her, but she cried out and recoiled from him, grabbing on to her apprentice. He backed off, raising his hands in appeasement. Shame coiled within his belly, rising to tighten around his chest—he struggled to breathe under its pressure.

“My lord,” he said, “you have a head injury, please, you must be still—”

“Out!” she cried, “get out! Get away from me, don’t touch me!” Her eyes were wild, fearful. The shame clenched him tighter—he had never seen her like this, and it was because of him.

“Master,” Jaesa said, taking hold of Eleanora’s shoulders and gently urging her back down. “It’s alright, it’s just Quinn, he’s been watching over you while—”

“Get him out,” Eleanora said, beginning to hyperventilate. Jaesa looked at Quinn, then at Vette and Pierce. Quinn didn’t want to leave her—she still needed treatment. She was not out of danger yet, at least not completely.

But Pierce stepped forward from the wall and took a few steps towards Quinn.

“You heard her,” the lieutenant growled, “out.”

Quinn left.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora lay back on the bed, Jaesa’s and Vette’s hands guiding her down. Her head felt weightless, she felt like she was floating. Then the next moment, agony flared behind her eyes and a band of pain tightened around her skull, throbbing with each beat of her heart. Vette’s voice said something she couldn’t understand—it was distant, like she was underwater. She held very still, breathing as evenly as possible until the worst of the pain passed.

She opened her eyes and saw the faces of her friends hovering over her, their concern apparent.

“Nora,” Vette was saying, “Nora, are you ok? Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Eleanora said, her voice hoarse. “I couldn’t for a minute.”

Vette’s hand was still on her shoulder and she felt the Twi’lek give her a gentle squeeze.

“You really scared us, Nora,” Vette said, “you’ve been unconscious for six days. Wait, no, seven now.”

Eleanora’s stomach dropped—seven days? She remembered everything so clearly now, she felt like she should have been coming to on the floor of the transponder station. The blaster hits to her back—Draahg grabbing her by the throat with the Force—Quinn’s cry as she impacted on the wall—

Quinn. 

The thought of him was agonizing, like someone digging their thumb into an open wound. Tears welled up in her eyes. He chose Baras over her—and all of his affection, his interest in her—all a lie. She was humiliated, hurt beyond words. And she had jeopardized her mission and her crew because her feelings had blinded her to a traitor in their midst. 

“Nora,” Vette said, “what happened? Quinn barely told us anything.”

“He’s been acting shifty,” Pierce said, stepping closer to the bed. “Usually can’t shut the guy up about his procedures and protocols, but he hasn’t said a damn word outside of telling us you were still alive. And you didn’t look very happy to see him just now.”

Eleanora looked up at the lieutenant. She’d had no time to think about how to approach this. Her instinct was to conceal it, to say that nothing was wrong—that her response to Quinn’s presence had just been a side effect of the sedatives. But the man was already suspicious, and Jaesa could find out at any time. Better to tell them now, order them not to do anything rash rather than risk any off-the-cuff reactions. She was furious with Quinn, frustrated at herself for pursuing him; but she didn’t want him dead.

“He betrayed me,” Eleanora said, trying her best to keep her voice even and hard. Pierce’s fists clenched. “He told me that he was more loyal to Baras than to me, and that his master had ordered him to lure me into a trap, where I would be assassinated.”

“Are you kidding me?” Vette said, looking utterly bewildered. “Captain Boredom—Mr. I-live-to-serve-the-Empire—is the traitor?”

“What do you mean, “the” traitor?” Pierce growled, “you say it like you were expecting one.”

“Well, we kinda...were,” Vette said, rubbing her lekku and looking down. “The Voss mystic guy warned Nora that someone would betray her. But we never even considered that it could have been Quinn.”

“You could have asked me,” Pierce said, “I knew from the moment I saw that prick that I wanted to bash his face in—and my instincts are usually right. Now I finally get a chance to.”

“No, Pierce,” Eleanora said, “I don’t want Quinn hurt. I don’t want to see him, I don’t want him at meetings, and I want him reassigned the second this endeavor is finished, but he can’t be replaced at this point in our fight against Baras.”

She could feel the rage swelling in Pierce and his eagerness to take it out on Quinn. Even Vette looked a little mutinous—her bright eyes were narrow slits. Jaesa looked impassive, as per usual, but Eleanora could sense her apprentice’s sadness and concern for her.

“I assure you all,” she said, voice dry, “for however many weeks or months it takes to bring down Baras, no one will resent his presence more keenly than I. But I need him functioning and able to contribute to the mission.” And she just didn’t want him to be hurt—some weak part of her still clung to her feelings for him, kept trying to rationalize his behavior. But she didn’t say that part to Pierce.

The lieutenant stared at her for a moment, then nodded his head in assent. “As you command, my lord.” Relief flooded into her—one crisis averted.

“Lieutenant,” she said, “I want you to keep working towards our goal on Corellia. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be down, but I want to be ready to move the second I’m up. Baras is finally going to face consequences instead of skulking in the shadows.” This assassination attempt was yet another failure for her former master—she wondered if he was beginning to sweat. She hoped so.

“Yes, my lord,” Pierce said. He left the medbay. Eleanora hoped her orders would be enough to keep him in check. She tried to sit up a little bit—her mouth was dry, she desperately wanted water. And something felt off on her face; she reached up and felt tubes leading into her nose.

“Master,” Jaesa said, “you are still weak, please be careful about exerting yourself.”

“Can I have some water? I’m so thirsty,” Eleanora said. She thanked Vette when the Twi’lek handed her a glass, but let out a sharp breath through her nose after she swallowed and pain blossomed in her bruised throat.

“Nora,” Vette said, “you told us that Quinn lured you into a trap. Did...did he do this to you?” The Twi’lek reached out and gestured to the mark on her neck, the bruises that had formed on her face. “And you’re allowing him to live?” 

“No, he didn’t do it,” Eleanora said, “he tried to kill me with a pair of droids. It was a pathetic attempt, really.” She told them how she overcame Quinn, how he realized his mistake, and how she lost control in the fight with Draahg and paid for that error.

“Nora, I’m really sorry this happened,” Vette said, touching her hand. “I know the world of the Sith is basically built on betrayal, but you’re not like the others. And I know you had feelings for Quinn.”

Eleanora felt tears coming once more and closed her eyes against them. 

“I’m sorry he used you like this,” the Twi’lek continued, “you didn’t deserve it.”

Eleanora gave Vette and Jaesa a weak smile, then said she was tired and needed to rest. She was not prepared to talk about her feelings, not now. It was too raw. 

“Master,” Jaesa said, “I will confer with the captain about how to take over your care as you recover, if that is what you’d prefer.”

“Yes,” Eleanora said.

“Goodnight, Nora,” Vette said. “I’m glad you’re back. It’s not the same around here without you.”

When she was alone, Eleanora laid her head back on the pillow and wept.


	16. In which Eleanora loses control

Eleanora shifted uncomfortably in the seat of the shuttle as she traveled to Darth Vowrawn’s safehouse. She had mostly recovered from her injuries at the transponder station, but her ribs ached when she sat. She stood, taking a deep breath in relief, and pulled up the letter Quinn had sent her three days after she awoke. The small green words glowed on the datapad, drawing her eyes along.

> My lord,
> 
> You have made it clear that I am unwelcome in your presence, and I cannot blame you for feeling that way. Nevertheless, there are a few things I must brief you on for the sake of the mission. I cannot allow my folly to bring more harm to you or your purpose. I owe you complete transparency after what I have done and promise you nothing less going forward, should you permit me to remain in your service.
> 
> The first is that Darth Ekkage is free from her holding cell. I deceived you on Belsavis and programmed the stasis chamber to shut down and release her one day after our departure. I acted according to Baras’ orders, but that does not excuse my insubordination to you.
> 
> The second is that, once I was certain you were stable in the kolto tank, I removed all hidden cameras from the ship. I lied to you every time you asked me to sweep the ship for bugs—in reality, it was full of devices I planted myself when I first came aboard. Every room had a camera in it and everything of note was forwarded to Baras.
> 
> There is much more I wish to say to you. I understand completely why you do not want to see me and that apologizing would likely be meaningless. But I am so, so sorry.
> 
> Your devoted servant,  
>  Malavai Quinn

She was now certain that the mysterious assassin that had driven her crew and Vowrawn from the ship was none other than Baras’ sister. She was still furious with Quinn, but she did give him credit for being honest about it, considering how poorly the truth reflected on him. A feeling of dread gathered in her stomach—the captain would be at the safe house and she would be forced to interact with him in front of Vowrawn. They could not afford to present anything other than a united front during this critical point in their mission.

The past two weeks since she woke up had been tense, to say the least. Quinn took the hint that she did not want to see him and stayed out of her sight, except during briefings when she had reluctantly accepted that he needed to be present. She stayed professional and spoke to him in a calm, detached voice, as if he were some nameless soldier that meant nothing to her. He followed her lead and kept his words firmly within the realm of military communication. But sometimes when she stole a glance at him, he was looking at her, his blue eyes full of emotion. She always looked away—it didn’t matter that he regretted it, she told herself. Regret and sorrow could not undo what had been done.

Anger boiled within her once more. She could almost excuse him siding with Baras over her—it was foolish, to be sure, but he had been in Baras’ service far longer than hers. And she suspected that Baras had let Quinn stew on Balmorra deliberately in order to render him eager to please in his desperation to get off that miserable rock. Baras could be very persuasive, especially to someone of lower rank and lesser power.

But did Quinn have to toy with her feelings to accomplish his purpose? Did he have to turn her down one moment, then seize her in his arms and kiss her the next? And what about Hoth, when he had touched her so heatedly? She remembered waking up to his hand on her breast and the feeling of his hard length pressing into her ass. Heat pooled low in her belly at the memory. She thought of kissing him in the medbay, of his tongue brushing hers and the way he had pulled her against him, like he needed her.

How could she still want him? She didn’t have an answer, but could feel her body continuing to respond.

Humiliation washed over her as she began analyzing every memory for any warning sign that she had somehow missed. She realized now how pathetic he must have thought she was, pawing at him like a needy adolescent. She flushed with shame at the memory of leaving a love-bite on his neck, of the numerous times she had touched herself while thinking of him. All of it, a lie.

“I’m just here to do a job, my lord,” he had said. That part, she amended, had not been a lie. She had just been too infatuated and desperate to see it. She stalked out of the ship when it landed, but stopped to take a deep breath. She composed herself, smoothing down the raw, fraying edges of her emotional state.

When she was escorted into the safehouse, Vowrawn greeted her with his typical enthusiasm. The man was uncommonly genial for a Sith, and Eleanora rather liked him. He was not opposed to mercy, and while he certainly served his own interests, he was genuinely invested in the improvement of the Empire.

“I must commend your crew,” Vowrawn said, gesturing to where Vette, Jaesa, and Pierce stood. “To a man, they performed most admirably.” He turned to look at Quinn, who was standing at attention off to the side. “And I would not be here if Captain Quinn had not taken on the assassin without hesitation. He is an exceptional officer.”

Quinn flushed a little and looked down. “I am making up for a past indiscretion.”

Eleanora stared at him, seething. An indiscretion? Is that what he called using her feelings to lure her into an ambush? A small part of her wanted to leap at him, to make him hurt the way he had hurt her. She pushed the thought away—she was not a cruel person. She was not like the other Sith; not beholden to the dark side and her baser emotions.

She realized Vowrawn was waiting for a response and pulled her gaze off her captain—no, not hers, he had never been hers—and back to the Sith.

“Thank you, Lord Vowrawn. I am very proud of my crew,” she said. She did not look at Quinn again.

  


* * *

  


Once Vowrawn had briefed her on her mission to locate the Entity, Eleanora retired to her quarters for the night. The safehouse was small but luxurious—well appointed for a Dark Council member. She was in the guest suite, and her crew was sleeping in the barracks. A servant had arrived with a meal for her, but she only picked at it. Her bitterness and anger had soured her stomach. She knew she needed to talk to Quinn, needed to air the acrid thoughts that were slowly poisoning her. But she could barely look at him.

She sent him a message on his datapad. About fifteen minutes later, she heard a soft knock on her door. She opened it and looked at Quinn for a moment before gesturing for him to enter. He obeyed, stepping into the room and squaring his shoulders, his hands clasped behind his back.

“My lord,” he said, bowing.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the armchair near the bed. The man nearly flinched at her tone, but moved obediently into the seat, his posture tense. “I am going to talk to you, and you are not to interrupt until I give you permission to speak.”

She stood in front of him, her arms crossed. She studied him, taking in his stiff shoulders, his rapid breathing, the barely noticeable tremor in his right hand.

“I know you’re desperate to talk to me,” she began. “I can tell that you’re about to burst from all the things you want to tell me, all the things you need to explain. But I’m not interested in your explanations or excuses.”

Quinn was looking down at the floor.

“I am reassigning you to Imperial Intelligence once Baras has been dealt with. Your talent for deception should not go unused in the Empire—Vowrawn is right, you are exceptional at every task you set your mind to,” she said. Quinn looked up at her, his face drawn and pale, about to speak, but unwilling to defy her.

“I fell for everything you laid out for me,” Eleanora said, her voice thick. She took a deep breath and gathered herself, pushing her emotions away.

“I was completely enthralled by you. You knew just what to do to keep me interested—just when you needed to touch me and leave me wanting more. I didn’t know humans could blush at will—I thought it was an involuntary reflex. But I suppose that’s one of many things that I’ve learned in the past two weeks.” Ire rose in her belly, filling her with dark, intoxicating thoughts.

Quinn’s brow was furrowed and he leaned forward slightly—he looked almost confused. Her eyes fell to the nearly faded love-bite on his neck. When she had made it, it had been a dark reddish-purple, but all that was left now was a faint yellow. That had been the last time they had touched each other. A hint of arousal stirred within her at the memory, and she was furious with herself for still feeling that way. She pushed her anger and humiliation aside, aware that her emotions were building up behind the wall of repression she had constructed over the past weeks.

“I just need to know,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Why did you make it so personal? What was there for you to gain from humiliating me like this? Did...did Baras order you to engage in a…a relationship with me, or was that your idea?” She was trying so hard to control herself, but her hands had begun to shake and tears of anger stung her eyes. She had stepped closer to him as she spoke and now she was close enough to touch him, but her hands remained clenched at her sides.

Quinn looked up at her, stricken—his eyes full of an unspoken plea.

“Well?” she said, crossing her arms once more to hide the trembling.

“My lord,” he said, “I deceived you about a great number of things, but when we were...when we were together, it was real.” His face was earnest, his voice low and ardent. It infuriated her.

“How dare you,” she said, her voice thin. “How dare you continue to lie to me. I backed off when you asked me to, that should have been the end of it. You...you made me think you wanted me.” She felt her voice waver on the last sentence, felt her lower lip trembling. She hated this—hated how hurt she was, hated how much she still wanted him, even now.

“My lord,” Quinn breathed, his voice shaking, “I wanted you. Desperately. And I was too weak, too selfish not to be tempted—”

Eleanora crushed her mouth against his, seizing a handful of his dark hair with one hand and angling his face upward. She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, swallowing the muffled noise he made into the kiss. He wanted her? Well, then she would take what she had wanted—she would take him.

She bit his lower lip hard enough to make him moan, and the sound sent electric currents down to her core. Her other hand grabbed the side of his neck and she pressed her thumb into his throat. The dark side called to her—told her to keep releasing her built-up frustration, anger, and desire. To take it out on the cause of her suffering.

When she finally broke away from his lips, they both inhaled deeply. His face was flushed and he looked up at her. She surveyed his fine-boned features—the delicate nose, the full lips, the pair of beauty marks on his reddened cheek. She kissed him again, hard and unforgiving, and settled further into his lap, pushing his arms aside with her knees. He gripped her thighs and she felt his fingers clench as she ground herself against the hardness rising against her.

“Is this what you want, Captain?” she hissed, sliding herself along his lap and gripping the collar of his uniform. He moaned as she moved, his hips helplessly bucking up against her. She gasped as an upward thrust caught her just the right way.

“Answer me, Captain,” she said, grinding herself against him and tightening her grip on his shirt. She brought her other hand to where the lean muscle of his shoulder met his neck and dug her fingers in.

“Yes, my lord,” he gasped, and she released him, rising to stand over him once more. He reached out towards her in protest, trying to pull her back. Her eyes were drawn to the wet spot on his pants, where the outline of his cock stood in sharp relief. Her pelvic muscles contracted, sending a wave of teasing promised pleasure between her legs.

She slid off her sleeping shorts and climbed back onto him, pushing him against the back of the chair. She reached down between them and undid his pants, ignoring his gasp as her fingers brushed against him. She had a singular purpose now—to get what she wanted from this man so she could forget him and move on.

She grabbed his cock and freed it from his underwear, and he moaned at her touch. She slid the head of his cock against her slick folds and sank down on him, taking a few inches of him into her. Eleanora gasped as she felt him inside her, thick and hard.

“Ah! My...my lord,” Quinn cried, his hips trembling. She gave herself a moment to adjust and drank in the sight of him. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed, his swollen lips parted as every tiny movement from her drew a small gasp. The sounds he made only fueled her lust.

She slammed her hips down and took him to the hilt, drawing a strangled cry from the man underneath her. She felt his cock throb in her once, twice. Was he about to come already? Desire thrummed through her and she tightened her muscles around him, drawing a muttered expletive from Quinn as he tried not to finish. She stood up again, pulling herself off him. She wasn’t done with him yet.

“Get on the bed,” she ordered, and her captain obeyed. “Lay on your back,” she said, straddling him as he hastened to comply. She dragged herself against him, moving her sex up and down the length of his cock. He moaned, gripping her hips, and tried to thrust against her.

“Oh, no, Captain,” she scolded, “I don’t think so.” She took his hands and pinned them above his head, holding them there with the Force. He lay beneath her, his chest heaving beneath a thoroughly disheveled uniform—his erection jutted up from the open fly of his pants. Captain Malavai Quinn, her betrayer, was helpless beneath her.

This time she watched his face as she impaled herself on him, watched his eyes flutter closed as a throaty sound escaped his lips. Her own face hardened as she remembered that this was what she had fantasized about from the beginning—making the prim, ever-composed Lieutenant Quinn lose his composure. What a naive fool she had been. Angered, she rode him harder, grinding herself against him every time their hips met. She leaned on his shoulder with one hand, dragging her thumbnail across the delicate skin of his neck. He inhaled sharply as she pressed her thumb into the hollow of his throat—she could feel his pulse leaping against her.

“My lord,” he said, his hips clumsily trying to meet hers. Her legs began to ache as she rode him, so she drew on her combat tactics and began winding the Force into her movements. Quinn couldn’t match her pace or rhythm so she pinned his hips down and fucked him harder. Eleanora moaned as she canted her hips to get more stimulation—she was rewarded with a spike of pleasure as her mound pressed against his pelvis. The angle took him deep into her—almost too deep—but the pain mixed with pleasure with every movement. She was close, and watching him moan and writhe beneath her was bringing her ever closer.

She gasped as she felt the familiar throb of pleasure build, felt herself clamp down on Quinn’s hard length inside her. He was thrusting erratically, trembling beneath her.

“My lord...ah..I..I’m—” she cut him off with a brutal kiss, fucking him mercilessly, not caring what he had to say. She broke away from his mouth and closed her eyes as one, two more movements of her hips against him pushed her over the edge. Eleanora moaned as she came, grinding herself against him, feeling the delicious hardness of him inside her as she contracted around him. Her legs spasmed and twitched as pleasure saturated her and she let go of everything else. As she returned to reality she kept moving, unwilling to let the moment go. She must have released her Force grip because she felt Quinn’s hands seize her thighs, felt his fingers dig in to her soft flesh as he thrust upward, crying out as she pulled him over the edge after her.

Hypersensitive from her orgasm, she felt his cock pulse in her, felt his shallow thrusts cease as she pushed down onto him and he filled her with his seed. She continued to grind against him, gasping softly, each brush of her clitoris against his pubic bone causing her to clamp down on his cock.

“My lord,” he gasped, his hips twitching and bucking, “my lord, I—I love you.”

Eleanora froze. She stared down at Quinn, dumbfounded. She knew he was lying, but to what end? Some part of her leapt with joy at his words and wanted to believe him, wanted to embrace him. Instead, she reached out with the Force and searched his feelings. She felt for the barrier that always surrounded his mind and stumbled forward when she found no resistance. She sank into him, feeling his sorrow, his guilt, his shame, his self-loathing. But she found other feelings about her there too—warmth, affection and things deeper, more primal—and pulled back. She couldn’t believe it.

She returned to reality when she felt him twitch inside her. He reached forward and took her hand, squeezing it. She pulled herself off him, drawing a soft noise from them both, and rolled over onto her back. She had fantasized about this for months, but she didn’t feel satisfied—she felt hollow. Empty.

“This was a mistake,” she told him as he lay next to her, panting. She didn't turn her head, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him shrink away as if she had struck him. “You should leave.”

She felt him rise from the bed and turned to look at him—watched him tuck himself back in his pants and try to straighten his ruined uniform shirt. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and only partly succeeded in smoothing it down. He was a mess.

The door slid open with a hiss and he was gone.

She shifted her weight in the bed and felt his seed begin to leak out of her. Eleanora dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, sighing deeply. What had she done?


	17. In which Eleanora confronts her most hated enemy

Quinn raised his trembling hand and ran it down the front of his face, trying to compose himself as he walked back to his quarters. His legs felt weak and his pulse pounded in his ears—partly from the aftershocks of his orgasm and partly from the agonizing shame of his unintended admission.

He hadn’t meant to say it—she was still furious with him, barely speaking to him. It had burst out of him like a breath he had been holding for far too long, but he hadn’t even articulated the thought to himself. He had fallen in love with her; it was the truth, he saw it now. But it had been neither the time nor the place to tell her that.

His pace slowed as he approached the door to the barracks. He wanted to shower, wash off the evidence of their joining that was beginning to dry between his legs, and lay in his bunk to think, to process what had happened. Quinn ran his hands down the front of his uniform, trying once more to smooth and straighten his shirt. When that failed, he untucked the shirt to at least cover the wet spots on the front of his pants.

There was no getting around it. He drew in a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and walked into the barracks. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone, though he could make out Pierce and Jaesa’s figures out of the corner of his eye. He kept his movements steady, deliberate—as if nothing had happened. He grabbed a fresh uniform from his travel pack and hastened towards the refresher, only to nearly bowl Vette over as she emerged from it.

“Quinn!” she said, stepping backward, “slow down, you scared the shit out of me.” The red-skinned Twi’lek paused in the doorway, looking him up and down. “Whoa, what _happened_ to you?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Vette,” he said, “now please allow me to pass.” He could feel his face reddening, betraying him. Vette stared at him, her eyes narrowed and arms crossed. Then she stepped aside and he slipped through the threshold, free from prying eyes.

He rounded the corner into the showers and stripped off his soiled, torn uniform. As he stepped under the hot water, he let out a slow breath through his nose. He had wanted her—still wanted her—but that had not been what he had expected. He couldn’t call it lovemaking; there had been nothing tender about it. Still, when he thought about the pulsing heat of her core and how her muscles had gripped him, as if she meant to keep him inside her forever, his cock twitched to life, half-hard in spite of his spent state. _Stars_ , was she warm—he had gasped when she first took him, from the slick, wet tightness and the overwhelming, feverish heat. It was amazing how a few degrees’ difference in body temperature felt.

And the look on her face, the noises she made as she found her pleasure atop him, around him—her eyes half-closed, her dark, soft lips parting in ecstasy, her breasts bouncing beneath her loose sleeping shirt. He made a noise of frustration as he washed his hair, feeling his erection bobbing between his legs. He had hoped that their tryst would satisfy the need for her that had become all-consuming, but instead it had merely poured fuel on the fire. Quinn wanted more than just physical release with her—he wanted to hold her and be held by her, wanted to wake up with her in his arms, wanted to be by her side forever. But he didn’t know if that was even possible. Not after what he had done to her.

While the pleasure of their coupling had been undeniable, his lord’s eyes had been cold as she glared down at him, her movements rough and uncaring. He felt used—but it was no more than he deserved. If she could find no further uses for him, he would serve her in this way for as long as he was able to; or rather, as long as his bruised feelings allowed him to before she had him transferred.

He had to talk to her. She must know now that his feelings for her were sincere—he had felt her presence in his mind as she probed him in disbelief after he blurted out his confession in the throes of pleasure. He couldn’t blame her for her distrust, but he needed her to know everything before she sent him away and he never saw her again. His heart ached at the thought of leaving her.

When he finished drying himself off, he dressed and combed his hair in the mirror. His lips were still a bit swollen, but otherwise he looked presentable—his usual immaculate self. He picked up the discarded uniform from the floor and was immediately struck by the smell of sex. He felt his cheeks burn—the crew had to have noticed. Quinn shoved the clothing into the disposal bin and walked back into the barracks.

He braced himself for comments from Vette, for either open or muted hostility from Pierce, but Pierce was gone and Vette was focused on repairing some small piece of electronic equipment that Quinn couldn’t identify. Jaesa sat on her bunk, deep in meditation. He felt a surge of gratitude towards Vette—he knew she was biting back a dozen jokes and choice remarks. Quinn climbed the steel ladder to the bunk above Jaesa’s and slipped under the covers. He shivered, suddenly cold—painfully aware of how alone he felt and desperately wishing his lord had allowed him to stay in her bed.

  


* * *

  


Two days later, the Entity was freed, Baras’ base was crippled, and Eleanora had put an end to Darth Ekkage once and for all. The ship was en route to Korriban to confront Baras on the floor of the Dark Council chamber. Eleanora walked into the medbay, dread and anxiety filling her belly. Quinn was facing away from her, taking inventory of their medical supplies, but turned around when he heard her footsteps.

“My lord,” he said, bowing his head and straightening to attention. “How may I assist you?”

Eleanora looked at him as conflicting emotions raged within her—she was still angry with him, but she also felt deep guilt over her actions. She had not meant to give in to her darker, baser feelings that night, but she had. And now that she knew that Quinn’s feelings for her were real, in spite of his betrayal, she regretted the way she had treated him. She knew they needed to talk. But she wasn’t quite ready yet—not while Baras still posed a threat. He was a living reminder of Quinn’s treachery, and she wanted her former master out of the way.

“I need emergency contraception,” she said, her cheeks burning. She lowered her eyes for a moment, then looked up at him. He had dropped his impassive expression and was staring at her in shock, his mouth slightly ajar. Color spread up his neck into his face, and he closed his mouth.

“Of—of course, my lord,” he said, turning to reach into a cabinet and digging around for a moment. He selected a small blue packet and handed it to her. “My lord,” he said, his voice slightly lower, “I—I was unaware that you did not have a contraceptive implant. I didn’t intend to—rather, in the moment, I wasn’t thinking when I—” his voice trailed off and he looked down, his cheeks flushing even darker. “As your medical officer, it was my duty to pay attention to such possibilities and I failed you.”

“Quinn,” she said, taking pity on the man, “I don’t recall giving you much choice at that particular point in time.” He looked at her, his blue eyes darkening as his pupils dilated. She guessed he was remembering the same moment she was—remembering her hips grinding against him, pinning him down as he came inside her. Arousal coursed up from low in her belly, but she shook it off. She did not need this situation getting any more complicated than it already was.

“It’s alright,” she continued, “I never got the implant because...well, I didn’t think I would be...with anyone during my apprenticeship, and I’d have to have one imported from Csilla. And I’m not even sure that Chiss and humans can reproduce, to be honest. But I can’t take any risks.”

“Of course, my lord,” he said, inclining his head towards her. Her anger towards him had begun to soften since she realized his honest feelings, though the revelation had shocked and upset her in the moment. She still wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile things—how to contend with the desire to forgive him and her utter inability to figure out how to do that. And how to apologize for giving in to the darkness that had grown within her since that day in the transponder station. She did not regret surrendering to her desires, but she did regret being so cold and selfish about it.

“Quinn,” she said, her voice more gentle, “I know we need to talk. And we will. Soon. But I need to finish this first. I need to finish the manipulative snake who set us on this course.”

Quinn looked at her, his eyes weary—full of guilt and pain and self-loathing. A muscle in his jaw twitched—his body was rigid with tension. Eleanora took a step towards him and reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. She ran her thumb along his soft skin, rubbing back and forth over the beauty marks. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath, turning his face to nuzzle deeper into her touch. A pang of deep emotion that she couldn’t quite identify echoed through her chest, and the hand that hung at her side tightened into a fist.

Baras was going to pay for every bit of suffering he had caused.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora walked into the chambers of the Dark Council, her head held high. Her crew followed her, fanning out behind her. Quinn stood at attention at her side, his hands clasped behind his back.

She recognized the large figure of her former master, who was facing Darth Marr, his back to the entrance.

“That had better be Vowrawn slinking in, late as usual,” Baras said as he turned to face the door.

“It’s over, Baras,” Eleanora said, crossing her arms in front of her. She felt the eyes of every Dark Council member turn to her—felt a ripple through the Force of their curiosity, anger at her intrusion from some, amusement from others. But she wasn’t here for them. Her focus was centered on the Sith lord in front of her.

“How interesting,” Darth Marr said, leaning back in his seat.

“Vowrawn, this isn’t the time for another one of your games,” a human Sith said, leaning forward in irritation.

“This is no game, my lords,” Vowrawn said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I present you with the Emperor’s Wrath, chosen by our Supreme Master himself, who Baras the pretender has betrayed. Baras is not the Voice.”

The Sith lords grew still, but Baras grew more animated, stalking back and forth across the floor of the chamber.

“You’ve grown desperate, Vowrawn, to bring this rabble in front of the Dark Council. Whatever petty greed or jealousy drives you has made you blind to reality—I am the Voice and I will not be challenged by the likes of you,” Baras said.

Eleanora tracked him as he paced, her eyes never leaving him. She didn’t care about Sith politics, not really, but she knew that if she was going to make the Empire better she would have to play along and follow their rules.

“Speak, warrior,” Darth Marr said, leaning forward and knitting his gloved fingers together. “Is Vowrawn correct? Are you the Wrath?”

She inclined her head respectfully, then raised it.

“I am the Emperor’s Wrath,” she said. “The Hand chose me and the Voice revealed that Baras had betrayed and trapped him, seeking to usurp his position and dictate his own will as the Emperor’s.”

“A bold claim, young one,” another Sith lord said—a woman with dark hair and a pretty face. “How can you prove this to us? What evidence do you present to the Dark Council?”

“She cannot prove it,” Baras said, dismissing her with a wave. “Do not entertain this nonsense.” He had not looked directly at her yet—was he afraid?

“I am your evidence,” Eleanora answered, ignoring Baras and staring up at the human woman, unblinking and unafraid. “Baras has made numerous attempts on my life and every one has failed. His sister—Darth Ekkage, the renowned assassin—fell by my hand as she tried to kill Darth Vowrawn."

She saw Baras stiffen then, watched him turn to face her—felt his malevolence. The corner of her lip curled upwards; he must have felt Ekkage’s death through the Force, but she couldn’t resist rubbing it in his face.

“Kill her now,” Baras said, appealing to the Council. “She just admitted to the murder of Darth Ekkage, one of our own.”

“My lords,” Eleanora said, “there is a simple way to determine which one of us is telling the truth. Allow me to challenge this usurper. One of us acts with the Emperor’s will behind us, and one of us works against him. Surely the Emperor’s true champion will be victorious.” She wasn’t even sure if the Emperor existed, but had no qualms about taking advantage of Sith superstition.

“Well, Baras?” the female lord said. “What could be simpler?”

“Look who stands with her!” Baras hissed, turning to point at her companions. “Tremel, who perverted and defiled our training process. An alien slave, uncollared and unchained. A cretin of a soldier with more brawn than brains. A former Jedi who clings to the light like a child. And let us not forget Captain Quinn—the disgraced officer who was responsible for the disaster at Druckenwell. I generously gave him a second chance to prove himself, but he failed—like he has failed at everything in his pathetic life.”

Eleanora felt Quinn’s tension, coiled up like a spring, but she knew he would not move without a word from her. Anger rose in her from his slight against her Captain, even though she had not yet forgiven him. She channeled the rage, turned it into valuable fuel, but rationed it—she would not lose control like she had with Draahg.

“You avoided the question, Baras,” Eleanora said. “Are you truly that afraid of me?” She drew her lightsaber and squared her shoulders, widening her stance as she raised a barrier.

“You are unworthy of single combat with me,” her former master snarled as he began to lose his composure. “If every Dark Council member agreed to entertain such absurdity from every disgruntled apprentice, we would do nothing else!”

“You will face her, Baras,” Darth Marr said, his rough, monotone voice ringing out across the chamber. “Enough talk. Prove your claim.”

“Very well,” Baras said, his fists clenching and slowly releasing. “You have vexed me for a long time, apprentice. It ends now.”

He crashed against her with the disorienting, overpowering strength of a breaker on the beach and Eleanora felt like a child tumbling under the wave. She scrambled to find purchase, then sprang up to the surface, gasping for air. He left her no time to recover as a burst of lightning scorched the air just millimeters from where she had been a moment before. She focused, building up her barrier again. She did not know how many more assaults like that she could endure, Emperor’s Wrath or no.

Baras had not even drawn his blade—he pursued her with brute command of the Force, smashing, crushing, incinerating. Eleanora tried to dodge, but she couldn’t move quickly and strengthen her barrier at the same time; she had to choose. Pivoting on her left foot, she planted her right and poured herself into the Force, raising a protective shield around herself. Her former master slammed against her barrier, but she made it stronger, reinforcing each layer.

Her former master raised his gloved hand and made a pushing motion; her barrier deflected it. Baras tried a few more long-range attacks which all met the same end. Eleanora’s heart began to race as her focus on Baras tightened—the Sith in their high seats faded away, as did her audience. The only other person she remained aware of was Quinn—as she blocked Baras’ attacks, she occasionally caught a glimpse of the Captain’s pale visage. Baras’ red lightsaber ignited with a _snap-hiss_ and he flew at her with a growl of exertion.

Eleanora couldn’t be sure how long they had been fighting—only that Baras grew sloppier as time went on. He had overextended himself, she realized. He had bet the greater part of his strength on the success of his initial assault—he hadn’t planned on battling for this long. And worse than that, he had grown weak and unpractised. His command of the Force had atrophied as he let his young, talented apprentices fight his battles for him. 

They broke apart after a particularly violent clash and Eleanora began to catch her breath. Baras’s chest was heaving and he reached up to tear off his mask.

“You are slipping,” he taunted, his voice smoother without the mask’s filter. His face was just as ugly as she had imagined—pallid skin, swollen features, eyes sunken in pits of purple and blue. He raised his hands and arcs of purple lightning sped towards her; she brandished her lightsaber and deflected the attack.

She saw his eyes leave her, saw the red irises shift to her right—predictable, she thought. She sprang into action, using the Force to speed her movement as she leapt between Baras and her companions. Lightning danced towards Quinn, but Eleanora was already there, reflecting the bolts back at Baras. Of course he would break the rules—he would do anything to gain an advantage. She saw Jaesa step forward and erect a barrier, her head bowed in concentration.

A scream of rage escaped Baras and he charged at Eleanora, swinging his lightsaber like a bludgeon. She drew on her resolve, her belief in the justice of her cause, her love for her crew. She parried each blow, letting him spend his strength until pink blotches began to spread across his deathly pale face. He was breathing through his open mouth now, teeth bared in a grimace.

He took a swing at her, then another. Their blades crackled and sparked as they clashed, and Baras’ face leered at her, inches from her own.

“Did Quinn tell you,” Baras panted, “that he recorded your every activity and sent it to me? I lost track of how many times you touched yourself while moaning for him— _pathetic_. He told me that he found you disgusting, obscene, alien—better fit to be a dancer in Nemro’s palace than a Sith apprentice. Those were his exact words.” He grinned, seeing the hurt in her eyes before she could disguise it. “Tell me, how did it feel when you realized he had been mine from the beginning?”

She steeled herself, drawing on her rage, allowing the flames to grow, but not enough to consume her—a controlled burn. Eleanora shifted her feet, moving from a defensive position to offense. She met a blow with one of her own and Baras staggered backward at her might. A few seconds later, his lightsaber flew across the room, knocked out of his hand. He growled and raised his hands, purple lightning sparking in his palms—but it fizzled out.

“No!” he cried, trying again to no avail.

“Your power abandons you,” Eleanora said, stepping closer to him and raising her purple blade. Her face was hard—there would be no ethical deliberation here, no question of mercy for Baras. There was no doubt in her mind that the galaxy would be a better place without him in it. 

“Quinn!” Baras barked, turning his head to where his former agent stood. “Quinn, I made you! You would be nothing without me—nothing if I hadn’t subverted your court-martial! I am your true master. Aid me, I command it!”

Quinn stared at Baras, eyes narrowed. “No, Baras,” he said, his voice cold, venomous. “I serve only one master, and she surpasses you in every way. You are _insignificant_ compared to her.”

Baras made a vicious gesture towards Quinn, but nothing happened—just a flicker of purple light that was gone in an instant.

Eleanora closed in on him—it was time to end this.

“I have wanted to do this for a very long time,” she said, anticipation flooding her—making her blood rush and her stomach flutter.

She plunged her lightsaber into his gut, pushing in until she was sure the purple blade was emerging from his back. A scream, high and wordless, rose from her former master until she dragged the blade upward, disintegrating his lungs and heart. Silence filled the sudden vacuum of sound, save for the thud his body made as it fell unceremoniously to the floor.

Distantly, she heard Vowrawn and the Dark Council begin to confer, but all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Baras, her greatest enemy, lay dead before her. She slowly raised her gaze from his body and turned to look at Quinn. His face was drawn, pale, guilty. He had heard what Baras had said—they probably all had. And the look in his eyes told her that Baras had spoken the truth for once. She drew a deep, quavering breath and exhaled.

Vowrawn shepherded her through a few ceremonies, the final one ending with the Dark Council rising and bowing to her. She was too numb to pay attention or care. When she made it out of the chamber, her knees went weak and Vette caught her arm, steadying her. Quinn scanned her for injuries, his brow knitted with worry. Pierce scowled at passers-by and bystanders, who hurried along their way after one glance at him. Eleanora barely remembered the journey back to the ship, but soon found herself sinking down onto her bed.

“Master, you did it,” Jaesa said, her voice low. “You have struck a blow that will echo throughout the Empire. Reform and change have never been more possible.” Eleanora knew she should feel exultant, triumphant, excited—but she was just exhausted. Her crew huddled around her, their animosity towards Quinn forgotten in the moment. Quinn. Her eyes slid to the man and then away. She knew his transfer was scheduled soon, but even looking at him was painful. She had been pushed beyond her limits. 

“I want to go home,” was all she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we have reached the end of the original SW storyline, but not the end of Eleanora and Quinn's story. These two still have a ways to go--I have the next chapter outlined and will be working on it over the weekend. I have some original content planned and may visit some areas of the expansions. Thanks for reading, and please feel free to comment with feedback, suggestions, or anything <3


	18. In which Quinn seeks his lord

Eleanora had been gone for three days—she left the ship some time in the night after they docked at the Imperial Fleet. Quinn spent the first two days thinking of what he would say to her when she got back. By the end of the third day, he was pacing, restless, desperate. He needed to talk to her—his transfer to Intelligence was scheduled to go through at the beginning of the week. He only had two days left to beg her to reconsider—or at least tell her the full truth before he never saw her again. He turned away from the screen and walked into the common area, searching for Jaesa. The apprentice was sitting at the small grey table with Vette, sharing a pot of coffee. Pierce was with them, a glass in front of him and a bottle of spirits next to it.

“The fuck do you want?” the large man said, glowering up at him.

Quinn ignored him, focusing his attention on Jaesa. They had barely spoken to him since the transponder station, but one of them had to have some idea of where Eleanora was.

“Our lord has been gone for nearly four days. Do you know where she went? I must speak with her,” he said. He couldn’t take the emotional turmoil anymore—it was devouring him like a starving carrion bird, tearing at his guts while he slowly bled out. He needed to explain himself—needed her to know that he had never wanted to hurt her.

“And what makes you think she wants to talk to a ratfucking scumbag like you?” Pierce growled, pouring a generous splash of dark liquor into his glass. “Maybe she left to get away from you.” The remark stung—Quinn had thought as much himself, and to hear it echoed out loud seemed to reinforce its veracity.

The lieutenant rose to his feet, towering over Quinn. His broad features were pulled into a sneer—he stood close enough that Quinn could smell the alcohol on his breath. Quinn’s pulse quickened and his jaw clenched as his instincts told him to either fight or flee, but he did neither. Pierce stared him down for a few more seconds, then turned away in disgust. He grabbed the bottle from the table and walked back towards the crew quarters. 

Quinn released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and turned to Eleanora’s apprentice.

Jaesa watched him, her expression neutral, but there was a coolness in her brown eyes that Quinn hadn’t seen before. She too stood up and left the common room without a word. Even kind, compassionate Jaesa had finally turned on him—and he couldn’t blame her. He had no choice but to try Vette if he was to have any hope of finding his lord. He looked at the red-skinned Twi’lek, who glared at him over her crossed arms. She knew something, he was sure of it.

“Why don’t you just wait until she comes back? It’s been weeks since you pulled the galaxy’s stupidest stunt, you can’t wait a few more days? Or however long she’ll be gone?” Vette asked, arching an eyebrow.

“My transfer goes through in two days. I don’t know where she went or when she will be back, and none of you will tell me anything,” he said, his voice descending into anger. He paused and took a breath, suppressing his frustration. “I need...I need to see her. To apologize. I will accept whatever decision she makes. If she sends me away, I will go,” he said, “but she deserves an explanation. I owe her that much, at least.”

“Oh, you owe her more than that,” Vette said, her voice casual and red eyes flashing. “She supported you, trusted you, relied on you. She cleared your name with High Command, she saved your life on more than one occasion. She was sweet on you. And you sold her out and stabbed her in the back. You almost got her killed."

Each statement struck him like a blow—but it was all true, so he had no choice but to take it. He felt color come into his face, but he clenched his jaw and let her finish.

“She made you a fucking cake, you asshole,” Vette hissed. “Get lost.”

Quinn stalked to the medbay and gathered what he needed: his datapad, his jacket, his bag. He had no idea where to start—she had said she wanted to go home, but she had never specified where that was. A wise precaution, he thought—her deliberate vagueness had prevented him from gleaning any useful information to turn over to Baras. Guilt knotted in his stomach at the thought.

He shouldered his bag and walked out the door, heading towards the ship’s exit. He didn’t know where he was planning to go, only that he couldn’t stay here in purgatory anymore. He could call in a favor or two, try to find out if Fleet security had seen a female Chiss pass through. Quinn walked down the ramp into the hangar bay. 

He was suddenly yanked backward as a fist grabbed a handful of the back of his jacket. He stumbled but soon found his footing, his soldier’s reflexes kicking in. Pierce loomed over him and shoved him hard in the chest. Quinn clenched his fists at his side but didn’t raise them. The man reeked of alcohol.

“You are a piece of work, you know that, _Captain_?” the lieutenant slurred. “You have this woman—this fucking goddess—climbing into your lap, and you fucking throw her to the wolves. And she still fucked you. You think I couldn’t smell her on you at Vowrawn’s hideout, you sniveling weasel?”

He shoved Quinn again, his face flushing darker with rage. Quinn tried to keep walking, to step around the larger man, but a fist connected with his jaw, lighting up his face with pain. He staggered, whiteness swallowing his vision for a moment, but a second blow to his stomach returned him to his body and he could see again. He doubled over for a moment, then came reeling upward.

“Fight back, you cowardly fuck,” Pierce said, shoving him again as Quinn reached up to feel his numb mouth, his fingers coming away bloody. I deserve this, he thought, I deserve this and more. Pierce hit him again, this time in the chest, and he fell backwards, instinctively catching himself on his hands as he gasped for air.

“How was she, huh?” Pierce snarled, swaying in place. “Are her tits as big as they look? Does she like it soft and gentle, or does she like it rough? How tight was her pussy? I bet she likes it rough—”

Quinn’s vision went white again, but this time it didn’t clear until his fist connected with Pierce’s face. Sharp pain blossomed up his arm and he heard bones break—he hoped it was Pierce’s nose. The larger man groaned and reeled backwards and Quinn punched him again, this time catching his bearded cheek; it was a much less satisfying hit. He felt like an animal, feral, teeth bared. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry—he wanted to tear the man’s eyes out so they would never look at his lord again—

Pierce hit him and he felt an explosion in his left eye. He faintly heard a yell in the background—it sounded female. A cry of pain left Quinn’s lips, and he saw the man’s enormous fist raise again as he readied his own counter—

And suddenly they were pushed backwards and Jaesa was standing between them, her arms raised, a palm facing each man.

“Stop,” the apprentice said as Pierce struggled against her Force grip, blood streaming from his nose. Quinn writhed for a moment, then relaxed, his chest heaving. He glared at Pierce, furious with the man for baiting him into fisticuffs like a hooligan. Quinn reached up and wiped more blood from his chin, felt the bone around his eye socket—not broken. Quinn wiggled his fingers—all movable, most likely intact.

Vette trotted up, having followed Jaesa down the landing ramp. She looked at them both and crossed her arms.

“Ridiculous,” she said. “A pair of fucking cavemen. Pierce, get out of here. You’re plastered, go sleep it off.”

Jaesa escorted Pierce into the ship and locked him in the crew quarters. Vette followed Quinn into the medbay where he placed a kolto pack over his eye. He handed her a second one and she raised an eyebrow.

“For Pierce,” he said, “I’m fairly certain I broke his nose.”

Vette rolled her eyes at him and disappeared with the pack. Quinn walked into the refresher to clean himself up. He leaned towards the mirror as he dried off his face—the bright lights made him look pale, highlighted the dark bags under his eyes and his five o’clock shadow. His lower lip was swollen and split on the side and his eye was already beginning to darken and puff up. He put the kolto pack back over his eye and walked around the corner to head towards the ship’s exit—he was fairly sure his pack was on the ground in the hangar bay.

Vette leaned against the frame of the ship’s exit door. Her red eyes glowed in the low light. She looked at his face, taking in his injuries. She sighed and tossed a lekku over her shoulder.

“You care about her, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have stuck around, moping like an akk dog that pissed on the floor—awaiting its punishment,” she said.

“Charming as always, Vette,” he said, rolling his eyes. She really had no filter. “Yes, I care about her,” he admitted, in spite of his instinctive desire to keep his emotions private. “I...have very strong feelings for her. Feelings that I have been suppressing for a long time.”

“Not strong enough to stop you from betraying her though, huh?” Vette snapped, but before he could respond, she raised a hand. “No, wait, I’m...I’m trying to be nice here, you just make it really hard.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“Nora borrows my shuttle pass sometimes,” Vette said, staring at the wall over his shoulder. “When she sends messages to her family. Can’t have them traced, so she goes to secondary and tertiary locations and sends encrypted letters from public terminals.”

Quinn was, for a moment, genuinely surprised. He had no idea about these excursions, despite his on-board surveillance.

“So there should be video feed from the public shuttle terminals. Can you slice into the archives and locate which shuttle she boarded?” he asked.

“Nah, don’t need to. She took the shuttle to Alderaan. I get receipts on my account,” she said, shrugging. “You wouldn’t recognize her on the video feed anyway—the pass is for a Twi’lek, so she wears this cloak with fake lekku sewn into the hood. Most humans don’t look close enough to notice that her eyes are Chiss.”

It was an exceedingly clever disguise, Quinn had to admit—an alien who kept their head down was one of the least noticeable people in the human-dominated Empire. He would never have found her, even if he spent what he had saved of his captain’s salary hiring a tracker.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, grateful but puzzled.

“Nora deserves to be happy,” Vette said. “And I don’t think she’s going to be able to until she gets over what you did to her. So, whichever way it ends up going, you guys need to figure this out. And that’s not gonna happen if she stays away or if you leave.”

“Thank you, Vette," he said.

In less than an hour, he was holed up in his tiny room on the transport, nursing a glass of whiskey and his wounds. He wouldn’t arrive at Alderaan for almost a day—leaving just one more night before his transfer went through and he would be required to report to Intelligence on Dromund Kaas. He would go if he had to—he would continue to fulfill his obligation to the Empire, whether or not his lord chose to forgive him.

It took a second glass of whiskey to lull him into an uneasy sleep.

  


* * *

  


  


Quinn arrived at Rhu Caenus Spaceport the next afternoon.

He approached the petty officer on duty at the arrivals checkpoint. The young man looked at him, taking in his uniform, his rank, and no doubt the bruises on his face. The officer jumped to attention, giving Quinn a fervent salute.

“Officer,” Quinn said, returning the gesture. “I need your help, Officer—”

“Robinson, sir,” the young man said, “how may I assist you?”

“I am looking for a female Twi’lek who would have passed through here four days ago. Blue skin, wearing a hooded cloak,” Quinn said, keeping his voice professional.

Robinson’s eyes lit up, eager to please. Quinn felt a pang of discomfort—he was reminded of a younger version of himself. Before Druckenwell, before he found his career completely derailed. Before he found himself indebted to Baras.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I was on duty that evening. The alien arrived just before 21:00 hours. She took a taxi to the Raynol estate.” Quinn bristled at hearing his lord referred to as ‘the alien’—it seemed reductive, disrespectful. It _was_ disrespectful, he thought, and he never would have realized that if he hadn’t met her. The thought shamed him.

“I’m not familiar with that area,” Quinn said, fixing his gaze on Robinson.

“It’s a small estate, minor offshoot of the Thul family. They lease property to farmers and off-worlders,” the young officer said.

“Thank you,” Quinn said, “you’ve been most helpful.”

The eager young man saluted him, and Quinn flagged down a taxi.

He reached the estate after a few hours—the journey through the Alderaanian countryside had been beautiful, but his stress grew as he grew closer. If she had wanted to speak to him, she would have sought him out, surely. He had no right to track her down, to come to her family home after his actions. But he couldn’t stop himself.

A few questions to the porter at the thranta camp and he learned where to go—a remote farm to the north. He rented a thranta and endured the ride—he preferred speeders, but there hadn’t been a choice. He finally arrived at the front of a modest house and knocked on the door.

After a few moments, an old man answered the door. He was tall and thin, with greying hair on the sides of his balding head. His eyes were bright grey and shrewd; his face was narrow, cold, with arched brows and a pointed chin. Familiar. Quinn searched his memories, focusing, scanning—where had he seen this man?

“Ah,” the man said, looking him up and down. “You must be Captain Quinn.”

At the sound of the man speaking, Quinn felt like he had been plunged into ice-cold water. He knew that voice.

“Come in,” the former Minister of Intelligence said, his pale eyes never leaving Quinn’s face. “My daughter has told me so much about you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Quinn. If he can survive this conversation hopefully he and Nora can get some time alone to talk
> 
> Thanks for reading and for taking the time to leave comments, kudos, and hearts—it means a lot <3 <3 <3


	19. In which Eleanora and Quinn move forward

  
Stand by the stairway  
You’ll see something certain to tell you  
Confusion has its cost  
Love isn’t lying  
It’s loose in a lady who lingers  
Saying she is lost  
And choking on hello  
-Crosby, Stills, and Nash, 1969

  


Quinn managed to produce a bow and a “thank you, sir” as the man ushered him through the door. His lord had said that her father was an Imperial official, but he had no idea. The man known as Keeper—who went on to become the Minister of Intelligence—had guest lectured while Quinn was a student at the Imperial Academy. Many of Quinn’s advanced placement intelligence and counterintelligence classes had drawn heavily on his methods. But the man had disappeared from the public eye after he abruptly retired, and Intelligence had been reorganized after his departure.

“Sit,” the man said, pointing to a chair at a small table by the window of the living room. Quinn walked to the designated seat and took it, keeping his posture perfect. He felt the overwhelming need to make a positive impression on the man, but surely his lord had told her father what he had done. He wanted to crawl into the nearest ditch and die—but he had to face this.

The man walked over to join him and set down a decanter and two small glasses. He poured one and placed it in front of Quinn, then filled his own glass.

“Sir,” Quinn said, “I apologize for coming uninvited to your home. I know I have no right to beg an audience with my lor—with your daughter.”

“Yet here you sit,” said the man.

“Y—yes, sir,” he said lamely.

“Well? Why are you here, Captain? What is it that you hoped to accomplish?” The man’s voice was thin, refined, and cold.

“I—I wish to apologize, sir,” Quinn said, “to your daughter. To tell her everything, to hold nothing back—and to accept her judgement.”

“Couldn’t you have sent her a letter?” the man asked. “It would appear that Eleanora has already made her judgement and found you wanting. Why did you insist on coming in person?”

“Sir,” Quinn said, feeling his voice beginning to waver and hating himself for it, “I—I needed to see her. One last time.” There was no point in telling this man anything but the truth.

The man leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, studying him.

“Captain Quinn,” the man said, his pale eyes never leaving Quinn’s face, “I’m going to tell you a story.”

“When I was a younger man, working as Keeper at Imperial Intelligence, I encountered a young woman who was rising through the ranks. She became a cipher agent under my tutelage, and her successes became mine. I found myself promoted to Minister of Intelligence,” the man said, “but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Quinn nodded.

“That young woman,” the former Minister said, “was remarkable. Talented, driven, loyal, brilliant. But she was headstrong. She made enemies among the Sith—she was unwilling to simper and bow, unwilling to play the game that all of us Force-blind wretches are resigned to. She openly opposed a rogue member of the Dark Council and attacked him on his ship. Even worse—she defeated him.”

Quinn couldn’t help the look of surprise that crossed his features; how had he not heard of this?

“You won’t have heard anything about it, of course,” the man said, guessing Quinn’s train of thought. “Darth Jadus was his name. But the Dark Council—relieved as they were to be free of Jadus’ madness—were disturbed that a mere cipher agent was capable of opposing them and even defeating one of their own.”

The man stopped to drink from his glass and gestured for Quinn to do the same. It was brandy, better quality than he could afford even if his salary was doubled. It burned pleasantly as it slid down his throat, but he was so nervous that he barely tasted it.

“So the Dark Council ordered me to either control her or kill her,” the man continued. “I chose the first option. I gave orders for her to be injected with a brainwashing serum that would allow anyone with the keyword to hold her reins. She endured it for months, her crew knew nothing. Eventually, she broke free by overwriting the programming, but at great cost to herself. She suffered chronic headaches, neurological damage. And in the end, she found out that I, her mentor, was the one who ordered it,” the man said, his eyes far away. Quinn could hear the disgust in the former Minister’s voice.

The man took another sip of brandy before returning his focus to Quinn. 

“Do you know why I told you this story, Captain?”

“No, sir,” Quinn said.

“Because betraying that young woman’s trust was the worst thing I have ever done in a lifetime of ethically questionable decisions. She looked up to me, did everything I ever asked her to and more, and I repaid her with treachery and suffering.” The former Minister’s eyes gleamed, a shadow of old pain crossing them. “Captain Quinn, you walked in here knowing very little about me, but I know _everything_ about you. You betrayed my daughter—toyed with her feelings and lured her into an ambush. I presume that it is the worst thing you’ve done in your unremarkable career. It only seems fair that you should know the worst thing that I’ve ever done.”

Quinn didn’t know what to say.

“That young agent forgave me,” the man said. “I do not know how, but she did. And it changed me.”

Quinn was utterly still, his fingers clutching the glass of brandy.

“My daughter does not owe you forgiveness,” the man said. “I don’t know whether she will offer it or not.”

The man rose to his feet and drained the rest of his glass.

“As much as I would like to make you...disappear for what you did to her, that is her decision, not mine,” the former Minister said with a tone of resignation. “I will ask her if she wants to see you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Quinn said. Apprehension filled him—his mouth felt dry, his stomach churned. When the man turned and left the room, Quinn gulped down the rest of his glass of brandy. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

The man returned a few minutes later. He gave Quinn a long, lingering glance.

“The room down the hall on the left.”

  


* * *

  


Eleanora sat on the couch in the guestroom in her parents’ house—not her room. They had never stayed in one place for too long—her parents had only been on Alderaan for a few years. The climate suited them well, though; she had been pleased to find them both in good health. She heard footsteps in the hall—Quinn. Her father had asked her what she wanted to do—and she told them to go on out to dinner without her. She needed to do this.

A soft knock made her jolt and sit up straighter, her heart racing.

“Come in,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact and failing.

The door opened and Quinn stepped in, his light eyes searching the room and stopping on her. She couldn’t help her soft intake of breath, the parting of her lips when she saw the state of his face. His left eye was surrounded by dark bruises, and his jaw sported similar markings. She rose a little in her seat—the urge to defend him from whatever had hurt him, to hold and comfort him was overwhelming.

“What happened?” she said, forgetting everything that she had planned to say.

“Ah,” he said, looking down and flushing, “Pierce and I...had a disagreement. Apologies, my lord.”

She frowned. She knew that Quinn and Pierce didn’t get along, but this was not acceptable from two grown men. But the fight was not the focus of this situation—she’d deal with it later. She gestured for Quinn to take a seat and watched as he perched himself on the edge of a wooden chair. His face was drawn and pale.

“Captain, I didn’t give you a chance to speak last time we...talked,” she said, prompting a dark flush to crawl up Quinn’s neck and across his face. “Tell me whatever it is that you need to say so desperately that you followed me here uninvited. I’m guessing Vette gave me away?”

“Yes, my lord,” Quinn said, “she pointed me in the right direction. My lord…I have spent weeks thinking of what to say to you. But nothing seems adequate. So, I’m going to tell you everything.” His voice was soft, defeated.

“I—I was indebted to Baras. He was the only reason I even had a career after Druckenwell. I was on Balmorra for so long—I nearly went mad. The monotony, the boredom, the stagnation. When you came, everything changed for me. Baras finally promoted me, offered me the chance to get off Balmorra, and to serve you. I leapt at the chance—at first, he only asked me to monitor you, to report anything unusual. It seemed—it seemed reasonable at the time, and I was so grateful to him. I justified it to myself because I thought—I thought you were misguided,” Quinn said, looking away. “I thought you were wrong to show mercy to our enemies, and I was troubled by your insubordination to Baras. I disapproved of your casual relationship with your crew. You—you defied every norm for a Sith apprentice. His desire to spy on you seemed warranted.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and ran a gloved hand through his hair; he released a breath with a soft huff. Eleanora said nothing.

“But the situation became increasingly complicated the more time I spent with you. I was drawn to you from the beginning—to your strength, your passion, your pragmatism. And you are still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he said, holding her gaze. Eleanora felt her cheeks grow warm, but then she remembered his remarks about her to Baras and her face hardened.

“I began to have...doubts, my lord,” he continued. “I began to admire the traits I had found so troubling at first—your kindness and compassion to your friends and enemies alike. And thoughts of you were distracting me from my duties. I suppressed my feelings and desires, convinced myself that my true loyalty had to lie with Baras. I resisted your advances because I felt it was wrong for me to grow close to you under false pretenses.”

His head dropped and he drew a shuddering breath. Eleanora felt numb, cold—like she had felt since Baras’ death. Her emotions were barricaded in—she had to protect herself. She couldn’t leave herself open again.

“But my resolve was weak—sometimes I couldn’t stop myself from giving in. I wanted you so badly—you...thoughts of you...of having you...consumed me,” he ground out, his cheeks painted with scarlet. “I’m so sorry, my lord, I didn’t want to hurt you—” his voice broke and she could see tears in his eyes. She felt something stir in her breast, despite the chill of her wounded feelings.

“So was Baras lying when he told me what you said?” she asked. “That I wasn’t good enough for you because I’m not human? Because my body is ‘obscene’?” Eleanora glared at him, anger filling her belly.

“My lord, I said those things to Baras,” Quinn answered, his brow furrowing and jaw clenching. “I was ashamed of my attraction to you and I tried to convince him—and myself—that I didn’t want you. It wasn’t true.”

“When—when Baras ordered me to move against you, I was devastated. Conflicted. But I chose him. I knew that I had no chance of defeating you—on some level, I knew that,” Quinn admitted, his voice resigned. “But I knew that if I turned on Baras, he would destroy me, destroy my family. And he wouldn’t kill me right away—he would tear me apart, torture me slowly. I was a coward, my lord, and so I chose to betray you in spite of my feelings for you. I knew you would at least give me a swift death,” he said softly.

Eleanora stared at him, her heart racing. He really had been put in an impossible situation. A thought occurred to her.

“The droids,” she said. “It’s been puzzling me. You knew they wouldn’t beat me. You had to have known. If you meant to kill me, you could have blown up the ship. Could have poisoned me. Could have given me a stim overdose and called it a vaccine.”

“My lord, I—I felt that by programming the droids and carrying out the ambush, I was fulfilling my debt to Baras. I could die knowing that I did my duty to the Empire and my family would be unharmed,” Quinn said, his voice beginning to quaver.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eleanora said, trying to stay calm. “Why didn’t you ask for help? We could have moved your family into hiding, like the rest of us did. We could have defeated Baras—we _did_ defeat him. Did you have no faith in me at all?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

Quinn gave her an anguished look. “My lord, I believed that Baras was untouchable. In the twelve years that I served him, he always had the upper hand in every situation. I was very clearly mistaken.”

“My lord, I am sorry,” he said, looking at her, pleading for her to believe him. “When I saw you laying on the ground after Draahg—when I saw you laying in the medbay—I knew I would never be able to forgive myself. I promise you, my lord, I had no idea that he would come. Baras must have guessed that either my ability or my resolve would fail.”

Quinn took a deep breath and moved from the chair to the floor, kneeling in front of her. Eleanora sat still, tense, waiting. 

“My lord,” he said, his voice dropping lower, growing thick with pain, “I am so sorry, I wish I could undo what I have done. I love you and I want you. I—I keep returning to Hoth in my mind. When you held me—” his voice broke off into a sob. He held a hand over his face, tried to gather himself, his shoulders trembling. Eleanora’s heart wrenched—the barrier was growing thinner, weaker, and her emotions were trickling through. She wanted to reach out and touch him, comfort him—her right hand had raised on its own, instinctively moving towards him.

“My lord,” he choked out, “I am a filthy, rotten scumbag and I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” His chest was heaving and tears streamed down his face. He covered his mouth with his hand and sobbed, leaning forward, hunching over on himself—and without a second thought Eleanora was on the floor in front of him. The dam holding back her turbulent emotions burst open and her compassion came flooding through, carrying her love and sorrow with it. She tried to pull him up into her arms, but he resisted. She reached out with the Force and felt his self-loathing, his longing, his regret—he didn’t think he deserved comfort. Her heart ached in her breast and her eyes filled with tears; he was as full of pain as she was.

“Quinn,” she said gently, rubbing his shoulders and tugging at his arms, “come here, please.” He sat up slightly, his hand still over his mouth—his eyes were clenched shut and his breathing was intense and erratic. Eleanora reached out and grabbed him, pulling him up onto the couch with her. He was stiff in her arms for a few moments and she began pressing kisses to his face. 

“I forgive you,” she said, and he broke down, sobs wracking his body. She pulled him halfway into her lap and he buried his face in her neck, weeping into the soft black fabric of her shirt. His right arm slipped under her left and clutched her shoulder, and his left encircled her back.

She held him tight and ran her fingers up and down the back of his neck, murmuring comforting words into his hair as he shook. “Quinn...my dear,” she said, resting her cheek against his head, “you aren’t any of those things. There’s a difference between a bad person and a person who does a bad thing.”

He leaned away from her to grab a handful of tissues from the side table and wiped his face, blowing his nose in between gasping breaths. After a moment he nuzzled back into her as he tried to control his breathing, his sobs becoming less frequent.

Eleanora kissed his neck and leaned her head against his. “I’m sorry that I left and didn’t tell you,” she said into his shoulder. “I should have made a decision sooner—but the thought of sending you away was so painful. I couldn’t face it and left to clear my mind.” Guilt filled her at the thought of how torturous these past few days must have been for him if his feelings were this strong. Tears began to leak from her eyes and she squinted them shut, holding her breath for a moment. “Malavai,” she said, her voice thick, “I want you to stay. Please.” Tears dripped off her nose, landing on his neck.

He stiffened and raised his head to look at her. His eyes—particularly the bruised one—were puffy, bloodshot, red-rimmed. His mouth was slightly ajar; she noticed that his lower lip was split and swollen. He was altogether a sorry sight, but his face was full of desperate hope.

“My lord,” Quinn said, “I will never give you cause to doubt my devotion to you.” He pulled off his gloves and tentatively reached up to Eleanora’s face, brushing her tears away with his fingers. She felt her lips begin to tremble at the tenderness of his touch. She had missed him—nearly lost him because she couldn’t face her emotions.

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead against Quinn’s. He continued to stroke her face, running the back of his fingers down her cheek as his other arm tightened around her. He took a breath and kissed her softly, brushing away more tears as they ran from the corners of her clenched eyes. She moved her lips against his, deepening the kiss, threading her fingers into his hair as she cradled the back of his head. Arousal stirred faintly within her at his touch, but Eleanora held back—kept the kiss sweet and innocent. The man had been through so much, he might not want to—

Quinn rose into a sitting position, kissing her harder, more needily. Eleanora gasped as his thumb traced under her ear—electric currents ran down her neck, settled low in her belly. She leaned backwards against the arm of the couch, swinging her legs up and tugging on his arm, prompting him to climb up after her. He knelt above her and leaned down to kiss her lips, her cheek, the arch of her throat. Each graze of his mouth against her skin sent a thrill to her core and she whimpered with pleasure when his stubble scratched against her. She reached up and began undoing the buttons of his military uniform when he gently caught her hand.

“My lord,” he said, his face flushed and eyes dark, “is this appropriate here? Your father—”

“I am a grown woman,” she said, grinning at him, “and they are out to dinner—”

Quinn descended on her, capturing her mouth—she felt his tongue brush her lower lip and she made a soft, muffled noise as her lips parted for him. He leaned down on one arm, but the other rested chastely on her shoulder.

“Malavai,” she breathed when their mouths broke apart, “touch me. Please.” She took his idle hand and slid it downward—he took the hint and she inhaled sharply as his hand moved over her breast. His long fingers cupped her flesh through her clothes—she watched his face, watched him blush as he gave her breast a gentle squeeze. His touch was hesitant—even clumsy.

Eleanora kissed him, reaching up to work on more buttons—when she finished, she slid her hands under and explored the smooth planes and muscled curves of his chest, tantalizingly close through his thin undershirt. Quinn sat up on his knees and peeled the uniform shirt off, and Eleanora followed suit, pulling her shirt over her head. She slid her fingers under Quinn’s undershirt and moved her hands upward, and in a moment he had removed that as well.

She lay back down, gazing up at him—his bruised face, his smooth chest and lean, muscular frame. He was staring at her, leaning over her once more—bending to kiss her as he slid his fingers down her neck and down over her chest. She felt him cup her and moaned into his mouth as he ran his thumb over the swell of her breast; she couldn’t stop her hips from twitching when he moved over her nipple, even though the thin lace of her bra separated his skin from hers.

She sat up, gently pushing him upright and unhooking her bra—she needed to feel him. She shrugged off the straps and tossed it onto the floor. She watched Malavai’s face as she straddled his hips—smiled as his blush deepened, his gaze fixated on her breasts. She arched her back as he kissed the skin of her neck and he turned his face down into her chest, lifting one heavy breast with his hand and closing his mouth around her nipple.

Eleanora gasped, gripping his shoulder with one hand and sliding the other around the back of his head. Malavai moaned as she widened her stance to bring her hips into contact with his, and the vibration made her clench her fingers in his hair. He moved his mouth eagerly, brushing her with his tongue, then pulled her nipple in deeper and suckled.

“Ah!” she cried, pleasure sparking through her body and making her hips jerk against Quinn—against the hardness in his lap. He raised his other hand and squeezed her neglected breast; she moaned when he rolled the sensitive nub of flesh between his thumb and fingers.

“Yes, Malavai,” she said, watching him flush at her praise—feeling his hips thrust beneath her. She needed him, was desperate for relief. She slid backwards off the couch and stood; Malavai released her with great reluctance, judging by the forlorn look on his face as she rose. Eleanora slid off her black leggings and stepped out of them, only wearing her underwear.

He looked up at her with a mix of adoration and lust—his lips were swollen and parted, his high cheekbones reddened. She bent over him and palmed him through his pants, savoring the soft gasp he gave and the way he thrusted helplessly into her touch. She unzipped his pants and began to pull them down; he helped her and in a moment he sat beneath her, naked. Eleanora started to climb into his lap—she wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to be joined as tightly to him as she could.

Quinn gripped her hips and gently tumbled her over so she was sitting and he was standing. Eleanora’s heart raced as Quinn’s lean body towered over her, his swollen cock bobbing between his legs. She wanted to take him in her hand, pull him into her mouth and watch his knees go weak—hear the noises she could drag out of her ever-composed Captain with her mouth around him.

But instead Malavai fell to his knees in front of her, settling between her legs and kissing the inside of her thigh. The roughness of his five o’clock shadow on the delicate skin made her hips twitch. He pressed a kiss on the thin fabric covering her mound and she inhaled sharply at the sensation. He reached up and touched the band of her underwear, then stilled, looking up into her face.

“My lord,” he breathed, “I—I have a confession. I’ve—I’ve never done this before. I had never done any...any of this before I met you.” Eleanora gaped at him. Did that mean—the time at Vowrawn’s hideout had been his first? She was horrified—she knew he was inexperienced, but she never thought— _how—_

“Malavai, I’m so sorry,” she said, rising to her feet, “I didn’t know, I wouldn’t have—”

Quinn took the opportunity to hook his fingers through the band of her underwear and slide them down her legs. He kissed her as she stepped out of them, and she acquiesced as he guided her back down to the couch. 

“My lord,” he said, kissing a trail up her inner thigh that was driving her mad with anticipation, “I did not tell you that to upset you—only to let you know that I am eager for your guidance.”

She still felt guilty for not being more gentle on Corellia—but she would make it up to him. Her thoughts were interrupted when his mouth touched her outer lips and his tongue darted out. Eleanora moaned as he explored her folds, his tongue lapping and probing; she opened her eyes to find him watching her. The sight of him kneeling between her legs, his face buried in her sex made her contract with desire, and then his tongue brushed her clitoris.

Eleanora cried out, her hips bucking upwards, and she clenched the fingers in Malavai’s hair. He moaned softly, backtracking, searching for the right spot—

“There,” she breathed, her back arching as he found it once more. “Ah, gentle, my love,” she said as he sucked on her clitoris too eagerly. “A little more gently…ah! Ah! Malavai, yes,” she moaned as he obeyed, using light, steady pressure. Her back arched and pleasure shot through her as he found a rhythm—why did it not surprise her that he was a quick study?

She whined when his mouth left her suddenly; he lifted her right leg over his shoulder for more access and gripped her hips as she writhed, desperate for his touch. Malavai smiled at her as he lowered his mouth to her once more, his eyes hooded. In a moment she was gasping again, the feeling of his mouth, his tongue—

“Malavai,” she groaned, “yes, please, don't stop—”

She was getting close, she could feel the telltale pulsing in her core, the electricity jolting through her flesh. He moaned, his eyes squeezing shut—she glanced down to see his hips thrust forward into the air, a trail of liquid dripping from the tip of his twitching cock. The sight of how aroused he was just from giving her pleasure pushed her close, closer—

“Malavai,” she cried as she peaked, her legs tightening and shaking uncontrollably. He made a low noise against her, gripping her thighs and carrying her through her orgasm. When Eleanora came back down, he was still stroking her with his tongue—slowly, gently. Her hips bucked violently with each touch, and she stroked his hair as he raised his head, his mouth and chin wet with her slick. He wiped his face with his hand and and looked up at her, a smug smile spreading across his face. He looked quite pleased with himself, she thought, as she pulled him up and kissed him. She tasted herself on his lips, moaning into the kiss as she took him in her hand, sliding her fist up and down his length.

“My lord,” he gasped.

“Eleanora,” she said.

“My lord?” he said, puzzled.

“Call me by my name. Please,” she said. “What do you want, my love?” she asked, deliberately brushing his ear with her lips and continuing to stroke him as his hips thrust into her hand, a ragged gasp escaping him.

“My lord,” he said, climbing on top of her, his cock leaving a wet trail as he settled in place. “I want to fuck you,” he breathed, flushing, his heavy length laying against her belly. She smirked at his uncharacteristic vulgarity, shifting her hips so he rubbed against the slickness between her legs. His propriety and composure were gone now—he rutted against her, desperate to bury his cock in her.

She kissed him and reached between them, guiding him in. Malavai groaned as he slid into her, and she found herself gasping as he immediately began thrusting—shallowly at first, until she angled her hips upward and his next movement filled her. Malavai cried out, his hips slamming clumsily against hers—he must be close, she thought—and she clamped down with her pelvic muscles, squeezing him and wringing another low moan from him. _Stars_ , she loved the sounds he made.

“ _Eleanora_ ,” he cried, burying his face into her neck as his hips rocked against hers, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself inside her. Hearing him say her name sent a thrill through her and she smiled, turning her face to kiss his neck. She made a pleased sound and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as his movements slowed and finally stilled. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his back, prompting him to hum contentedly into her neck.

When he began to soften and Eleanora felt a flood of him begin to drip out of her, they were forced to separate and clean up. But she pulled him back to her and he pressed a fervent kiss to her lips before he lay down, nuzzling his face into her breasts, pillowing his head between them. Eleanora clutched him to her, dragging her nails over his neck and scalp as he rested—she never wanted to let him go.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve fudged with timelines a bit, as you may have surmised--in Eleanora’s particular timeline, the Imperial Agent’s storyline concluded approximately 22 years earlier. The former Minister of Intelligence--AKA Keeper--has been retired for that amount of time. Intelligence has since been re-formed, and he does still have a lot of contacts, but he’s not active in the field.
> 
> I saw a cute meme about cuddling on reddit and thought of Nora and Quinn, so this illustration happened <3


	20. In which Eleanora sees her family

The first thing that Quinn was aware of was a burning, gritty sensation in his eyes. The second was the dryness of his mouth and his desperate thirst. The third was that he was not alone in his bed—and that he was not in his bed at all. 

Eleanora lay next to him, facing away. His eyes, bleary as they were, could not help following the curve of her figure from her shoulder down to her waist, and the swell of her wide hips. She must have cast off the blankets sometime during the night—the room was a comfortable temperature for him, but she ran warmer. He raised a hand, reached out to touch her, but then lost his nerve; some part of him was sure this was a dream. He brought his fingers to his own face instead and rubbed his eyes. It brought no relief—he felt as though every drop of fluid in his body had been wrung out of him the night before. He let out a huff of amusement through his nose—if he had voiced that thought to his lord, he knew exactly what she would say: “I _did_ wring every drop from you last night, Malavai.” He pictured the salacious grin that would spread across her features. He looked at her once more, marveling at how effectively she had set up residence in his head.

Quinn stood, careful not to disturb her, and pulled fresh clothes out of his pack. When he entered the refresher, he filled and drained a glass of water then climbed into the shower. Emotions swirled within him, warring for dominance—he was overwhelmed with gratitude that his lord had forgiven him, but his shame was still powerful—still telling him that he did not deserve forgiveness. _You will never be good enough for her,_ the hateful voice that was his own said, _she will tire of you and move on to someone more suitable in no time at all. She is Sith, you are a mere captain—a washed up old soldier with an unremarkable career. You will fail her again. You always do._

Quinn endured the brow-beating from his self-loathing with his usual stoicism, but this time there was a small spark of resistance. He thought of the way her hands tracing lovingly over his skin, the way she held him to her breast—the passion in her voice when she cried out his name as he pleasured her. She cared for him, there was no question about it. Her tenderness, the gentleness of her touch gave him ammunition against what the cruel part of himself was saying.

He stepped out of the shower and got dressed, then stood in front of the mirror to shave. He knew there was nothing to be done about the unsightly bruises marring the left side of his face, but he could at least be presentable otherwise. He shaved with his usual meticulousness and splashed cold water over his face to rinse, then wetted a facecloth and held it over his aching eyes. Even his undamaged eye was puffy and red; his cheeks burned as he recalled how openly he had wept in front of his lord, how he had sobbed until his chest ached and his nose was running. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried like that—when his father died, perhaps—but that had been alone, with no one to witness his grief.

He removed the cloth and surveyed his face—his eyes looked a little better, but they were still red-rimmed. His lip had split open again last night, though whether it had happened while he kissed his lord or while he knelt between her legs, he couldn’t say. He finished drying his face and rinsed out the sink, trying to ignore his body’s response thinking about the night before.

Quinn walked back into the bedroom and looked over at the bed; his lord was awake, sitting up. She had pulled on a sleeping shirt and was typing on her datapad. His lord glanced over at him and smiled. Her red eyes were smouldering in the bright sunlight that spilled in through the window, her hair messy and falling out of the bun atop her head. She looked lovely.

Eleanora rose and approached him, tossing the datapad on the bed.

“I just canceled your transfer, Captain,” she said, slipping her arms around his waist and looking up at him.

Relief flooded him. “Thank you, my lord,” he said as she pulled him closer, her arms tightening around him. She rested her head against his chest, her cheek pressed against his heart. The innocent affection of the gesture stunned him—he encircled her with his arms, and held her, lowering his head to hers.

When she looked up, her lips parting, he kissed her. He had been so rigid and inflexible for so long, he couldn’t stop himself. He leaned back, smiling at her, and they broke apart. She went into the refresher and he heard the shower turn on.

He picked up his datapad and canceled his transport to Kaas City, and then canceled the room he had rented there. Each confirmation he received lifted a little of the despair that had been slowly crushing him over the past few weeks. When the acknowledgement of his rescinded transfer orders arrived, he breathed a deep sigh. 

His lord returned, wearing a simple black dress. It was modest but hugged her generous curves—she caught him looking and gave him a teasing smile.

“Come, Malavai,” she said, heading towards the door. Dread filled him at the thought of facing her family. He had come uninvited to their home and slept in their daughter’s bed—not to mention that they thought him a traitor and a villain. 

But he followed her. 

  


* * *

  


Eleanora walked into the kitchen, Quinn trailing behind her. She didn’t need to reach out with the Force to feel that he was nervous—he was at attention, his shoulders squared, his hands clasped behind his back. Eleanora looked over at her parents, who were sitting at the table over coffee. Her mother smiled at her, but her father merely quirked an eyebrow.

“Good morning,” Eleanora said, pouring herself a glass of juice.

“Morning, Nora,” her mother said. “Captain Quinn,” she added after a moment. Her mother was angry with Quinn—what parent wouldn’t be? But she was polite enough to be cordial, at least.

“Madam,” Quinn said, inclining his head, “it is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your hospitality. You have a—a lovely home.” 

Her mother’s eyes swept over Quinn and then flicked to Eleanora, glistening with amusement. “You’re welcome, Captain,” she said, taking a sip from her cup.

Her father rose to his feet, draining his coffee cup and setting it down.

“Eleanora,” her father said, “Captain. I’ll be back shortly. Help your mother make lunch, will you? I’m bringing back guests.”

Eleanora felt her heart leap upward, rising with joy as her face split into a wide smile. “They’re coming?”

“They missed you last night,” her father said, his eyes flicking to Quinn, who couldn’t help flushing a little. “They don’t know when they’ll be able to travel again so they wanted to be sure to see you before you left.”

Eleanora couldn’t stop smiling. Quinn shot her a quizzical glance as her father walked away and her mother retreated to the pantry.

“My aunt and uncle,” she said. "They're old friends of my father's, but they are like family to me. I haven’t seen them in years. And I haven’t met my youngest niece yet.” She couldn’t keep the note of melancholy out of her voice as she spoke the thought into reality. Being a Sith apprentice had meant that her family was vulnerable—she had to keep her distance. But she was the Emperor’s Wrath now. Things had grown safer in some senses and more dangerous in others.

“Ah,” Quinn said, “I see. My lord, I will retreat until you are ready to depart. I do not wish to intrude on your time with your family. I—I apologize that my presence has already interfered.”

“Malavai, don’t apologize,” she said, reaching out and laying a hand on his chest. “I’m happy that you came.” She wanted him to meet her family, but she knew the situation was awkward at best. “If—if you don’t feel comfortable though—”

“My lord,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “You honor me.” Quinn leaned towards her, his face tantalizingly close. “I am glad to be here. Although I am fairly certain I will be departing with a black bag over my head any moment now.”

She rolled her eyes at him and pulled him in for a kiss when he abruptly stepped backwards—the pantry door had closed and her mother was in the room again. Quinn flushed and Eleanora smiled at him before moving to help her mother with the food. 

  


* * *

  


Quinn watched as Eleanora ran to the couple who were stepping out of the shuttle. The man had an arm around the red-haired woman, who moved slowly—Quinn soon realized why. She was pregnant, quite far along. In the man’s other arm was a baby. A shrieking blur shot from behind the couple and flew at his lord, and Eleanora caught the child, laughing and tossing her up in the air. She set the child down, and the little girl began to run around.

Eleanora took the pregnant woman’s other arm and helped her down, and they embraced—Eleanora was laughing. Quinn felt his own lips turning upward at her joy. She turned to the tall, dark-haired man with a smile.

“Nora,” the man said, his voice smooth and musical, “your electric aura shines like a nascent star—trepidant, but hopeful. We have missed you.” He pulled her into a hug and he kissed her on the cheek; their affection was palpable.

Quinn had no idea what the man was talking about, and looked to Eleanora in confusion, but she acted like he hadn’t said anything unusual. Instead she fawned over the baby, who looked at her with wide eyes.

Eleanora took the infant, who looked a bit dubious but didn’t immediately burst into tears, and led her aunt and uncle over to where Quinn and her mother stood. The red-haired woman greeted Eleanora’s mother, then turned her gaze to him—her eyes were bright, curious, sharp, like those of a bird. Quinn got the impression that she could see right through him. A scar disrupted the freckled skin of her right cheek, but it only made her more striking.

“This is Captain Quinn,” his lord said, giving him a small smile. “Quinn, this is my Aunt Helena.”

“Madam,” Quinn said, bowing slightly to her. 

“Nice to meet you,” Helena said, shaking his hand firmly. The woman’s eyes assessed his face, took in the bruises and split lip. “Any relation to Fiona Quinn?”

Anxiety trickled coldly down his shoulders and back. She had to be Intelligence.

“Yes, Madam,” he said, “she is my older sister. You—you know her?”

Helena grinned, but Quinn couldn’t decide whether it was friendly or not. “Call me Helena. I work with her. Or I did, before I retired. She’s a Fixer, and a damn good one too. A bit prickly though.”

Quinn felt the corner of his lip twitch. “You are too kind, Helena.” His sister was the coldest person he had ever met—prickly was a polite understatement.

“And this is my Uncle Vector,” Eleanora said.

Quinn turned to the tall man in front of him and was taken aback when he realized that he was not, in fact, human. His eyes were bottomless pits of black—like Eleanora, the man had no pupils, but unlike her, his eyes seemed to swallow light rather than emanate it.

“Greetings,” the man said with a bow, “we are pleased to make your acquaintance. These are our daughters—Andronika,” he said, gesturing to the older child, “and Ophelia.” He indicated the baby in Eleanora’s arms, who was beginning to fuss.

Quinn inclined his head and turned to his lord as the child began to wail. He watched Eleanora shift the baby down onto her hip, holding her with one arm as naturally as if she carried babies every day—as if she were not a Lord of the Sith who could snap a man’s neck with a gesture and send her enemies reeling backward with one blow. Eleanora gently bounced the baby, which seemed to placate her—the noise died down. Quinn felt something stir within him—something deep and primal which he had never truly felt before. He wondered how she would look with his child on her hip—or in her belly. The thought filled him with desire—both for her and for that future.

He had thought about having children before, in an academic sort of way. He had thought of raising them to carry on his family legacy of military service, like his father had—what schools he would send them to, what his expectations of them would be. But there had never been any warmth or life in the thoughts—there had never even been a woman he considered it with, and now that he was nearing forty, he thought it was something he would never have. But here his lord stood in front of him; he imagined her belly round with their child, her breasts—already large—swollen larger. He felt a spark of arousal at the idea—and the reality came crashing down on him.

He had done research after Eleanora came to him for contraception. There were few cases of interspecies romance among the Chiss in the first place, but the current literature categorized Chiss and human unions as sterile. His heart sank a little, then he realized that he had been staring at Eleanora for some time—he blushed and stammered an apology. He was being ridiculous—getting way ahead of himself, even if their biology wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle. He was fortunate to be back in her good graces, let alone planning a future with her. 

  


* * *

  


Eleanora leaned over the balcony, a glass of whiskey in her hand. Helena sat to her left, brooding in silence, her pointed chin resting in her hand. The two women watched the distant figures walking in the meadow below. The children were playing, running back and forth, and Vector and Quinn followed at a slower pace. Eleanora had wanted to talk to Helena alone, so her uncle had asked Quinn to walk with him and help keep an eye on the children. Her Captain had given her one pleading look, but she had abandoned him to his fate with a slight smirk and a few words of approval. He’d survive the children—it was kinder than leaving the poor man with her father.

“That’s a hell of a story, Nora,” Helena sighed. “And here I thought I might like him.”

Eleanora looked over at her aunt. “He’s...complicated, Helena. But he’s genuinely remorseful, I felt it. I’ve forgiven him.”

“Just like that?” Helena asked, her voice dry.

Eleanora stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you make it sound so easy. You are a kinder person than I am, so maybe it’s true, but I doubt it,” her aunt said, rubbing her hand absently up and down over her swollen belly. “That kind of change doesn’t happen overnight. Forgiveness is a process, not a singular act.”

Eleanora stared out at the field once more, taking a sip of her whiskey. She turned back to Helena, waiting for her to elaborate.

“You forgive him once, right? You feel some relief after, like you unburdened yourself. And the next time you remember what he did, when the wound splits back open and it’s raw and painful, what then? You have to choose to forgive him again. And the next time you remember that someone you trusted, someone you relied on betrayed you—you have to do it again. And every time it happens, you let go of a little of the bitterness, a little of the poison that you’re holding inside,” Helena said, her eyes far away. “It doesn’t happen overnight.”

“Are you talking about Quinn, or my father?” Eleanora asked, sitting down next her.

“Both of them,” Helena said, “but at least I wasn’t romantically involved with your father.” 

Eleanora snorted. 

“Love adds a second, deeper level of betrayal,” Helena continued. Her green eyes softened and she reached out, laying her hand against Eleanora’s arm. Eleanora leaned into the touch and felt Helena’s arm drape over her shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Nora,” she said, giving her a squeeze.

Eleanora knew her aunt was right—there was still pain inside her. This thing she had with Quinn— _what could she even call it?_ —was fragile, newborn, unsteady on its feet. She wanted to nurture it.

A child’s scream of fear—real fear, not a shriek of play or laughter—made Eleanora straighten and scan the field, her hand moving to her hip to grab her lightsaber. A moment later, she saw the flash of blaster fire—Quinn was shooting at something—something that she couldn’t see except for the way the grass waved as it closed in on the small group. Helena was on her feet, her face white with dread.

“Stay here,” Eleanora said, leaping from the balcony and drawing on the Force to speed her descent. She hit the ground hard but charged forward, pushing the grass to the ground as she moved. More blaster fire and the flash of an electrostaff—another scream. Faster, faster, she had to help. She was still far away, but she could see what was happening as she sped closer.

Her uncle stood in a clearing, clutching Ophelia to his chest with one hand and brandishing his electrostaff with the other. He was looking around in wild alarm. “Andronika!” he cried. The grass rustled near him and a dark shape leapt at him—he struck it with his staff and it fell, skidding along the ground. Four other beasts— _manka cats_ , she realized—circled Vector, isolating him.. He called the girl’s name again and Eleanora’s heart clenched at the fear in his voice.

Eleanora saw movement—saw her niece’s dark hair streaming behind her as she tried to run towards her father. But an animal leapt between them, was nearly on top of the girl—Eleanora pushed herself, faster, _faster_ as its claws flashed in the afternoon sun. Andronika fell with a cry, but the creature suddenly reared backwards as a blaster shot struck its face. Quinn was there, scooping up the girl into his arms but the manka cat fell on him, slashing.

Eleanora’s heart was pounding. _Almost there_. She drew her lightsaber and hurled it at the beast on Quinn. It screamed as the blade bit through its flesh—Quinn took the opportunity to retreat and fire a few shots at the larger ones circling Vector. Andronika clung to him, her small arms wrapped around his neck, hiding her face. Eleanora reached for her blade, calling it back to her hand.

_Now._

Eleanora leapt at the largest cat, pummeling it into the ground with enough force to stun the others. She turned her head and summoned her rage, her fear, her wrath. Bright purple lightning exploded out of her fingertips, burning her and incinerating the wounded beast that was eyeing Quinn again. She hadn’t used Force lightning since the Academy, when she and other students had been compelled to use it on each other. The instructor, an old crone whose face was barely decipherable due to corruption, had told her she lacked the hatred to make it potent.

But there the creature lay, smoking.

Quinn and Vector ran towards her as more ripples in the grass drew near.

“Go!” she yelled, rushing past them and into the grass. There were six left, and three of them fell to her blade. Another blaze of Force lightning and the field was quiet, save for the crackle of the grass that had caught fire. Eleanora stood still—the dark side had pulled her in so easily. She had expected to have difficulty fueling the blaze, but she hadn’t—instead, she poured so much of herself into it that she felt spent.

She shook herself—her family needed her, she could reflect on this later—and hurried back to the house, following the trail of trampled grass. When she arrived at the garden, chest heaving, she surveyed the group. Vector was cradling Ophelia, who appeared unharmed but was wailing, her face bright red. He was stroking Andronika’s head, who was clinging to Quinn and crying. Eleanora could hear Quinn and Vector talking to the girl, trying to get her to let go, and she finally allowed herself to be put down.

Quinn pulled out his medkit. He started to reach for Andronika’s bloodied arm, but she shrieked and recoiled.

“No, no, it hurts! It cut me!” the girl cried, “don’t touch it!” Vector reached out to comfort her, but she wouldn’t stay still.

“Andronika,” Quinn said as he bent to one knee, “look, it scratched me too.” He held up his own torn arm and the girl stilled. “It hurts. It’s going to hurt until it gets patched up. Let me fix it for you.”

Andronika looked at him—wary, considering. After a moment she let him take her arm in his hands. Helena finally made it down to the garden and Eleanora rushed to her, helping her over to her family. Helena crushed Vector in a hug and pressed kiss after kiss to the baby, who she took into her arms. Then she and Vector moved over to Andronika, who was letting Quinn rinse the scratches with kolto.

Thankfully, the injury didn’t seem too serious. Quinn was talking to the girl as he wrapped the wound with gauze, telling her what he was doing and why in a calm voice. Helena hovered, but allowed him to continue.

“You don’t want to wrap it too tightly, you see—you want it to get some fresh air. What color bandage would you like?” He held up a purple roll and a blue roll. Eleanora couldn’t help but smile, in spite of the terror that had gripped her mere minutes before.

“Purple,” Andronika chirped. Quinn wrapped her arm in the bandage and rocked back on his heels, his elbows resting on his knees as he surveyed his work.

“Good choice, Nik,” Eleanora said, resting her hand on Quinn’s shoulder, “purple’s my favorite.” She gave him a squeeze of gratitude and he leaned against her, into her touch. He shifted away and started to rise, but Andronika was not going to allow it.

“No!” she said, grabbing Quinn’s arm. “I do it, I do.” She tugged on him until he sat down and made him roll up his sleeve, then proceeded to dump the rest of the kolto bottle on his arm. She trussed him with gauze and the purple bandage. “Not too tight,” she told him.

“It’s an excellent field dressing, Andronika,” he told her solemnly, which made her smile.

It was only then that the child let him be—she was now busy showing off her own bandaged arm to Eleanora’s mother and father.

Quinn gave Eleanora a long-suffering look from his undignified seat on the ground. She took in his bruised eye and cheek—his bloodied arm and the comically inadequate bandage wrapped around it—the kolto stains all over his uniform shirt. She smiled and reached down to him, helping him to his feet.

She pulled him to her and captured his mouth with hers—she felt him stiffen in surprise and start to step away, but then he melted into her. She was overwhelmed with gratitude, proud to have him at her side—touched by his patience with her niece. They broke apart after a moment and Quinn blushed, keenly aware of the fact that they were not alone.

“We are also grateful to you, Captain,” Vector said, inclining his head, “but we hope you will understand if we express our thanks verbally.” Eleanora flushed, shooting her uncle a sheepish grin. Quinn went scarlet.

“Speak for yourself, my dear,” Helena said, seizing Quinn and pulling him into an embrace. “You saved my daughter. Thank you.” Her voice was thick. Eleanora didn’t think it was possible for Quinn to get redder, but he did.

“I—I was only doing what needed to be done,” Quinn said, inclining his head. “I am happy to have been able to help.”


	21. In which Quinn and Eleanora travel back to the Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, this chapter is filthy. A little bit of plot at the beginning and end but mostly smut. I just couldn’t stop myself—I apologize for nothing! The story will start to progress again with the next chapter but I had to give these two a little more private time together before they get back to real life.
> 
> I have a bit of a Quinn problem right now...which is why I started a tumblr so I could follow more Quinn content. I’m sleepswithvillains on there too. I’ll share art and new chapters and I’m looking for blogs to follow! <3

Quinn stood back as his lord said her goodbyes. She hugged the children—Andronika clung to her legs and Ophelia gave her what appeared to be a rather wet kiss. He repressed a shudder. Despite his earlier thoughts about a family of his own, if he was being honest with himself, children made him uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to act around them. Children were frequently disruptive, rarely obeyed social norms, and disregarded personal boundaries—all things guaranteed to set his teeth clenching.

As if summoned, Andronika ran to him, tugging on his arm and raising her hands to be picked up. He stiffened in surprise—he had seized the child and carried her away from the manka cats, but those were extreme circumstances. Quinn was keenly aware of the eyes on him, including his lord’s. She smiled at him, the corners of her red eyes crinkling in amusement at his discomfort. The child tugged at him again, both small hands clenching his gloved fingers. He had no choice. He awkwardly gripped her under her arms and lifted her up; the small girl turned and rested her head against his shoulder.

His lord approached him and her family followed—Vector stopped in front of him and inclined his head.

“Captain Quinn,” Vector said, his dark eyes inscrutable, “we are in your debt. We admit that we were concerned about your presence at first—your electric aura is tense, your song is one of discord and sorrow. But there are notes of beauty in it. You and Eleanora have kept our family whole. Our song continues--full of joy and gratitude.” He reached out and clasped Quinn’s hand—the man’s grip gave Quinn the impression of restrained strength. He wondered about the physiological changes that the Joining had on Vector and filed the query away for later study.

“It was my pleasure, Ambassador Hyllus,” Quinn said, shaking his hand but not knowing how to address the odd comments. It was so alien to him—like the man spoke in poetry instead of prose. And it unnerved him that Vector could read him so easily, in spite of his carefully practiced demeanor.

Helena embraced Eleanora and Quinn shifted Andronika to his other arm—she was heavier without the adrenaline pumping through his veins. The child was staring up at him, her large, bright eyes both serious and curious. Her hand reached upward. He flinched in surprise as her tiny fingers— _oh stars, why were they sticky_ —groped his face, poking at the moles on his cheek. He took a deep breath through his nose, lifting his face up and away—there was only so much he could tolerate, even from his lord’s family.

“Nik,” Helena said, mercifully swooping in to save him, “come here, don’t touch people’s faces like that.” The girl leaned into her mother’s arms and Quinn let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Thank you both again,” the cipher agent said. “Nora, you were incredible. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve grown up.” Helena’s sharp eyes looked at his lord, studying her. “I’m glad you’re on our side,” she said with a smile, “because I fear for our enemies. You’re like a wrecking ball.”

Her piercing gaze turned to Quinn. “And you’re not too shabby in a pinch yourself, Captain. I’ll tell your sister you said hello next time I see her.” Quinn felt his cheeks color a little as he thanked her—he dreaded the inevitable letter from Fiona, demanding to know why he hadn’t told her that he had left Balmorra and entered into the service of the Emperor’s Wrath. He wondered if Helena would tell her about the nature of his relationship with his lord. He sincerely hoped not.

Eleanora turned to her parents next—Quinn watched as they embraced her, spoke to her in low voices. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw her mother’s eyes flick to him, uncertain and suspicious. He looked away, shame flooding him.

His lord pulled her pack onto her shoulder and approached him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her father drew closer and gave Quinn a brisk nod.

“Captain,” he said. He looked for a moment like he was going to say more, then thought better of it. Quinn inclined his head respectfully.

“Thank you for your hospitality, sir,” Quinn said. He meant it—if her father had shut the door in his face like Quinn half-expected him to, he never would have been able to reconcile with his lord.

The man nodded, his pale eyes studying Quinn’s face. Eleanora embraced her father, who leaned down to kiss his daughter’s forehead.

“You’re magnificent, Nora,” her father said, his voice low. “Don’t ever forget it.”

Eleanora gave the former Minister of Intelligence a watery smile and walked over to Quinn. He helped his lord up onto the thranta and climbed up after her—her arms encircled his waist and she scooted closer until she was pressed against his back. He lifted the reins and the beast moved; her grip on him tightened as the thranta lifted off.

As they flew towards the spaceport, Quinn remembered the first time they had come to Alderaan—they had ridden just like this. He had been bemused by her fear of flying on a thranta; in the end, she had refused to ride by herself as they sought Jaesa’s family. He had blushed the entire way as her breasts pushed against his back and her hands clasped each other over his stomach. She was a Sith Lord of incredible power, terrifying to behold in battle—but now, like then, she was clinging to him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. He didn’t have to turn his head to know that her eyes were squeezed shut.  
  


* * *

  
“Quinn,” Eleanora said, her arms crossed, “you’re not—you don’t need to sleep on the bench.” She gazed down at the man in exasperation as he lay on the thinly padded seat. “We shared a bed last night.” She had booked a single room round trip last week, not planning on returning to the Fleet with a companion.

“I did not wish to presume, my lord,” he said, his cheeks coloring a little as he stood. “Last night, I was so...so overcome and exhausted that I fell asleep where I was.”

But he climbed into the bed and she followed. Quinn lay on top of the blankets and she scooted over to him, slipping her arm over his belly and nuzzling her face into his chest. She could feel the lean strength of his arm as he wrapped it around her and held her close. She idly trailed her fingers up and down over his chest, playing around the neckline of his sleep shirt—just barely brushing her fingertips against the soft skin there. She saw him swallow, the lump of cartilage in his throat bobbing, and she sat up on her arm a little and leaned towards him.

She kissed his cheek and moved down his face, pressing her lips to the roughness of his jaw. She nosed under his ear, drawing a soft gasp from him as she gently nibbled the delicate skin. When she rubbed her hand across his chest she could feel his heart pounding—the arm holding her tightened as her fingers trailed downward, across the smooth muscles of his stomach.

She felt an electric current of pleasure run down into her core when she found him hard—she palmed him through his pajama pants as a suppressed moan escaped him. She smiled into his neck, tracing the outline of his cock as he writhed under her touch.

“Malavai,” she purred, his eyes flicking open and meeting hers at the sound of his name, “you’re so eager for me and I’ve barely touched you. Do you _really_ want me that much?” She stroked him through his pants as she spoke and his hips bucked up against her hand.

“My--my lord,” he gasped, “I have never wanted _anything_ like I want you—ah!” She had slipped her hand down his pajama pants and wrapped her fingers around his hard length.

“Is that so?” she asked, smirking at him as she tugged his pants down and freed his cock, stroking him slowly. Eleanora reached out with the Force and felt for him, nuzzling into his neck as he moaned. She touched his mind and was nearly overwhelmed with his lust for her—desire diffused through her abdomen, pooling between her legs. She felt his longing for her—saw him lock the medbay door and take himself in his hand as he thought of her. His memories materialized in front of her mind’s eye—she was holding him down, fucking him roughly as he writhed, his hands pinned above him. Then she saw herself moaning, keening as her thighs tightened around his head. She delved into his fantasies, saw herself crying out as he took her from behind, his pale hands digging into her soft flesh. She saw her own red eyes close as she knelt before him, taking him in her mouth—

She pulled herself back to reality, away from the precipice of his desire for her that she had nearly tumbled over. Eleanora pulled her shirt off over her head and saw his gaze fix on her bare breasts. She smiled at him as she slid down his body—realization dawned in his eyes as she lowered her head to his cock.

“My lord,” he grunted as she ran her tongue up his length, then engulfed the sensitive head in her lips. He cried out, his hips bucking as she took more of him—his fists clenched the blankets as she raised her head, turning her eyes up to him. He had covered his face with one hand, clamped it over his mouth as his cheeks burned. She bobbed her head up and down, slowly at first, enjoying every muffled sound he made as his cock slipped in and out of her mouth. But this wouldn’t do—she raised her head.

“I want to hear you, Malavai,” she said, tracing the deep lines and furrows of his lower abdominal muscles as they rose and fell with the heaving of his chest. He took a deep breath and lowered his hand from his mouth.

“Yes, my lord,” he murmured, his blue eyes fixed on her—his beautiful, bruised face open and vulnerable.

She sucked his cock back into her mouth and Malavai was moaning, his hips thrusting shallowly as she gripped a handful of his ass. She smirked around him, pleasure coursing through her as she saw his dignity and composure being eradicated by the sight and feel of what she was doing to him. Her breasts brushed his thighs as she moved up and down his length. She could feel him getting even harder, more swollen in her mouth, but she wasn’t quite ready for it to be over. Eleanora slowed down and then released him with an obscene popping sound that made them both flush. She teased him with her tongue, savoring each moan, each gasp, each tremor of his muscles. He thrusted upward, desperate for more contact, more stimulation, but she pulled back, rendering his efforts fruitless. She brushed her lips along his velvet skin, barely touching him as he let out an undignified sound that was dangerously close to a whine. She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face.

“My lord,” he choked out as she tormented him, “please—” His brow was furrowed, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes dark with need. She smiled up at him, narrowing her eyes and pressing the flat of her tongue against the sensitive ridge under the head of his cock.

“Please,” he begged, “please, my lord—I need you, I can’t—“ He broke off into a throaty moan as she teased him again.

She felt herself contract once, twice—desperate to feel him inside her, but too intoxicated with the power of her current position to give it up. She took just the tip of him in her mouth, bobbing her head up and down, swirling her tongue around his engorged flesh.

“E—Eleanora, please,” he breathed, his hips writhing and his hands maintaining their white-knuckle grip on the blankets. She moved her tongue against him and his cock twitched in her mouth. Pleased that he had said her name, she decided to be merciful.

She opened her mouth and took him until her nose brushed the dark curls between his legs.

“ _Nora_ ,” he cried, and a shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. The intimacy of hearing her name from his lips, of hearing the way his voice shaped it made her clench her thighs together. He bucked beneath her and she held him down to stop him from gagging her as she slid her mouth up and down his length. She hummed in pleasure as he moaned her name again, and the sensation seemed to push him over the edge.

She watched his face as she felt his cock throb—watched as his lips parted, his brow furrowed, his eyes fluttered closed.

“Nora, _fuck_ , I’m--I’m going to—” There was a note of desperation in his voice—his eyes were open now, panicked and wild as he tried to pull himself out of her mouth in time.

Eleanora gripped him tighter, squeezing the firm swell of his ass as she moved up and down once more—and she felt him pulse again as he erupted. A strangled cry broke from Quinn as he filled her mouth with his come—she had to swallow to prevent him leaking out of the seal of her lips. She watched his face as his eyes opened once more—watched him gasp as she ran her tongue over his hypersensitive flesh, teasing out everything that he had to give. She held his gaze and swallowed again, and he threw his head back, his chest heaving.

When his hips stopped moving she released him, giving him one last lick from base to tip to wring another soft sound from him.

“My lord,” he breathed as she moved up to lay next to him. He was trembling and she wrapped her arms around him as he buried his face in her chest. He kissed her breasts as his hand slid down her belly. His mouth closed on her nipple, pulling roughly, and she gasped as he slid a finger into her.  
  


* * *

  
Eleanora lay with her head pillowed on Quinn’s chest—his cheek rested against her hair and his fingers trailed in lazy circles down her back. She felt the pleasant tendrils of their afterglow still winding through her belly. They had made love a second time when they had both recovered, feeling the need to take full advantage of the relative privacy of the transport compared to life aboard the _Fury_. There was a satisfying ache between her legs, but she suspected she’d be sore tomorrow.

“Thank you for today,” she said, running her fingers along the bare, freckled skin above his breastbone. “For Andronika. You got her out of danger and you were so good with her, even though I’m almost certain you would rather have dealt with more manka cats than a child.”

“Of course, my lord,” he said—his voice sounded deeper with her ear against his chest. “I felt it was my duty to attend to the well-being of your family.”

They lay in contented silence for a few more minutes before Eleanora’s thoughts turned back to the _Fury_ and the crew. How would they feel about Quinn staying aboard? Would they respect his authority as their Captain? Jaesa probably would, Vette might be persuadable, but Pierce—

Pierce.

“Malavai,” she said, sitting up so she could look at his face. “What happened with Pierce? I need to know.”

She felt his body tense as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his brows knitting together.

“My lord,” he said, “it won’t happen again--”

“Captain,” she said, her voice growing more stern, “I can’t pretend that nothing happened. For two men under my command to get into a _fistfight_...who started it?”

Quinn sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Pierce initiated it, my lord,” he answered, “He hit me, I tried to keep walking, but then he—he baited me.” His voice was frank and somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly did he say to taunt the unflappable Captain Quinn?”

Malavai’s face flushed and he looked away, his jaw tightening.

“Well?”

“My lord, he—he said some vulgar things about you. Comments of a sexual nature,” he said, his voice growing lower and his eyes narrowing. “I was incensed and I retaliated. I should have been more level-headed.”

Eleanora frowned at him. “Are you telling me,” she said, sitting up, “that you two _brawled_ because he said some crass things about me?” He was nearly forty and Pierce was only a few years younger—what business did they have acting like adolescents? Irritation surged through her as Quinn met her eyes.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, contrition written on his face. “I acted without thinking.” 

She softened as she looked at him. She didn’t know what they were going to do about it, but there was no point in continuing to scold him.

She lay down on her back next to him, staring up at the ceiling. She would have to deal with everything once they got back to the ship. She was disappointed in Quinn for allowing himself to be dragged into it, but she needed to address the fact that Pierce had disobeyed her orders and assaulted his captain. Quinn may have been disgraced, about to be transferred—but he was still Pierce’s superior officer. The lieutenant’s insubordination was growing difficult to ignore.

“He’s propositioned me before,” she said, “but I thought he took my turning him down with grace.”

“Apparently not, my lord,” Quinn said. “It’s...not the first time he’s made such remarks about you to me.” He turned towards her and slid his hand over her belly, gripping her side and pulling her snugly against him, her hip against his stomach. “I believe he is both jealous and malicious.”

“Quinn,” she said, “are you going to tell me what he said?”

Quinn huffed, but she raised an eyebrow and he spoke.

“He asked me a number of inappropriate questions...including whether or not, and I quote, your tits are as big as they look.” He flushed as the words left his mouth.

Eleanora laughed, surprising Quinn, who gaped at her, scandalized. She climbed over him, a hand on either side of his head. She kissed him and he reached up, resting his hands on her waist. She broke away from his mouth and arched her back, settling her hips over his.

“Well,” she said as a sly smile spread across her face, “Are they?”


	22. In which Eleanora and Quinn return

When Eleanora boarded the _Fury_ , Quinn in tow, her hope of having some time to finish coming up with a plan was dashed by the sight of Vette sauntering around the corner to see her. Vette smiled, her bright eyes gleaming.

“Nora! You’re back—oh,” she said, pulling up short when she caught sight of Quinn. “Uh, hi Captain.”

“Vette,” Quinn said with a nod, fidgeting uncomfortably.

Vette looked as if she wanted to say something, but Eleanora didn’t give her a chance. 

“I’m calling a crew meeting in half an hour to discuss Captain Quinn’s return,” Eleanora said.

“Quinn’s...return?” Vette said, looking askance at Eleanora.

“Yes,” Eleanora said.

“Sure, Nora,” Vette said, “I’ll, uh, let Pierce and Jaesa know.”

Eleanora walked into her quarters and set her bag down. She didn’t care about unpacking—that could wait. She was nervous and tense about the crew’s reaction to her decision. Canceling Quinn’s transfer had been easy in the moment, when it was just the two of them. His immediate gratitude and relief had made it feel like the right thing to do. But now that she was back with her crew, she felt uneasy. She was in charge of the ship, certainly, and her word was law. But she didn’t run the _Fury_ like a typical Sith vessel. She didn’t rule over them with cruelty and fear. She didn’t want to force the others to endure serving under a Captain they hated any more than she wanted Quinn to be in command of a resentful and insubordinate crew. She knew that Quinn was remorseful, that he would never betray her again—but would that matter to the rest of them?

When Eleanora entered the meeting room, the crew was waiting for her. Pierce leaned against the wall, Jaesa sat upright in her chair, and Vette lounged across hers. Everyone was in their usual place. Everyone except Quinn, who strode in a few moments after her. Eleanora guessed why—Pierce drew himself up at the sight of the smaller man, his expression clouding over with anger. Pierce was sporting a serious bruise on his face and the splint on his nose indicated that Quinn had given nearly as good as he had gotten. It seemed that Quinn had wisely decided not to risk a confrontation without her presence.

“I have an announcement to make,” Eleanora began. “As you can see, Captain Quinn has returned with me. He will be remaining on this ship, serving in his previous capacity as pilot, medical officer, and tactical officer. I’ve canceled his transfer orders and the transfer of his replacements.”

She looked around at the crew as she spoke, gauging their responses. They were silent.

“Captain,” she said, “you had a few words that you wished to say?” She looked at Quinn, who met her gaze and nodded.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, standing at perfect attention. “I take full responsibility for my actions at the transponder station. While it is true that Baras forced my hand, it was I who made the choice to betray my lord, and all of you. I—I thought what I was doing was in the Empire’s best interest, and I was wrong.” His cheeks had flushed in shame, but his voice was steady and he looked at each member of the crew as he spoke. Eleanora felt affection stir in her breast—he was facing the situation head on, not deflecting or backpedaling. Malavai Quinn was a proud man—arrogant, even, if she was being honest—but he was not too proud to admit a mistake.

“If you will have me as your commanding officer, I will never again give you cause to doubt my loyalty to my lord or my crew. I apologize for my actions, and I will give nothing less than my best efforts moving forward,” Quinn finished, his voice earnest.

Jaesa and Vette were both looking at Quinn, considering his words, but Pierce was staring at Eleanora. His eyes were hard and his jaw was set.

“So let’s see if I have this straight,” Pierce said, his arms crossed over his chest. “The traitor who has been spying on all of us for nearly a year tried to assassinate you. He failed, but his co-conspirator Draahg nearly succeeded, putting you in a coma for a week. And now because he went whimpering to you with his tail between his legs, he’s allowed to stay.”

Pierce turned his glare from Eleanora to Quinn. “And not only is he here, he’s back in command with no consequences? Did it occur to you that you’re not the only one that he betrayed? What would’ve happened to the rest of us if Quinn succeeded? You know we would have been slaughtered.”

Eleanora stared at him, her heart pounding with anger. What truly vexed her was that everything he said was true—though he was missing quite a bit of context.

“I’m not denying any of that,” she said, “but Quinn wasn’t given a choice. Baras forced his hand, and ultimately Quinn knew that I would be more merciful than my former master. He’s assured me that it will never happen again and I believe him.”

Pierce snorted.

“The only reason he’s still here is that he’s warming your bed,” he snarled, making Eleanora’s cheeks burn and Quinn’s face darken with outrage. “If one of us did what he did, would we still be here? Would I?” The large man’s eyes were hard and narrowed. He turned to Vette.

“Maybe Baras would have spared Jaesa, tortured her until she broke, but you and me, Vette? We’d have been wiped out in a heartbeat. Airlocked. But Captain Quinn is very sorry and promises not to do it again,” Pierce said, finishing the sentence in a nasal tone that was intended to be a mockery of Quinn’s voice. Anger simmered in her belly—Pierce’s hatred for Quinn went above and beyond the events of the transponder station. It was personal between them. But his words bothered her—threatened to reopen her healing wounds. If she hadn’t woken up after the events of the transponder station—after Draahg—they would be dead, and it would be Quinn’s fault. She couldn’t deny it.

Vette looked troubled as well. Her gleaming red eyes moved from Quinn to Eleanora, then back to Quinn.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” Vette said. Eleanora wasn’t used to hearing her sound so serious.

“Yes, Vette,” Quinn said, his eyes dropping to the floor. “That is what would have happened. I’m—I’m sorry.”

Vette continued to size him up through narrowed eyes for a few more seconds. Then, tossing her lekku over her shoulder, she turned to Jaesa.

“Well, Jaesa? What do you think? Is he sincere? Is there any danger of him turning on us again?” Vette asked, her arms crossed.

Jaesa turned to Quinn and focused, her eyes drifting shut. Quinn shifted uncomfortably, but then straightened and clasped his hands behind his back. He gazed stolidly at Jaesa, submitting to her scrutiny of his true intentions. Eleanora watched in silence.

“He’s sincere,” Jaesa said, her brow furrowing slightly as she concentrated. “I sense remorse. Embarrassment. Guilt at the prospect of bringing us to harm. Lingering anger, directed at himself. Tentative hope. He’s telling the truth.”

Eleanora’s apprentice opened her dark eyes and fixed them on Quinn, who was flushing at having his private emotions exposed.

“Captain Quinn,” Jaesa said, “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Jaesa,” Quinn said, relief evident in his voice.

“Look, Quinn,” Vette said, “we’ve never really gotten along. Probably because you’re such an insufferable, uptight dork. And what you did to us—what you did to Nora—is not ok. But if you’re telling the truth, and if she can forgive you, then I guess—I can try to.”

“Besides,” she said airily, “they were gonna send two people to replace you, and it’s already so crowded in our quarters.”

“I’m touched, Vette,” Quinn said, his voice dry. The Twi’lek smirked at him and Eleanora allowed herself to relax a bit—the dynamic of their little family aboard the ship was beginning to return to normal.

Except for Pierce.

“Are you all fucking idiots?” the lieutenant said, stepping away from the wall he had been leaning against. “You know he shouldn’t be here. If he were on _any_ other Sith ship, he’d have been throttled to death on the spot. He’s a _traitor_.”

Eleanora stared at Pierce. The room was silent.

Pierce stepped towards her, drawing himself up to his full height. “So if I were to hurt you—break your bones, choke you out—it would be fine as long as I fucked you after?”

Before the man could speak another word, Eleanora raised her hand and seized him with the Force. As she lifted him into the air, she said, “Do not _ever_ speak to me like that again, _Lieutenant_.”

She took a deep breath—she had reacted without thinking, her rage had escaped before she could stop it. But as Pierce hung before her, suspended, his legs kicking, she felt a cold realization settle in her. Pierce was the one member of her crew who did not respect her mercy. The only language he understood was power.

“You don’t have to believe Captain Quinn, Lieutenant, or even like him,” Eleanora said, “but if you want to remain aboard this ship, you will show him the respect befitting his station. He is your superior officer and the second in command of this vessel. And the next time you think about questioning a Sith lord—” she tightened her grasp, watching the man claw fruitlessly at his throat, ”you may want to reconsider.” She released him with a push and he hit the wall—not hard enough to really hurt him, but enough to make her point. He slid down to the ground as his chest heaved, catching his breath.

“Am I understood?” Eleanora demanded as the lieutenant scrambled to his feet. The crew looked uneasy—they weren’t used to seeing her like this. Quinn stared at her, transfixed. She seldom felt the need to flaunt her authority, but this was one of those rare moments that called for it.

“Understood, my lord,” Pierce said, dropping his eyes to the floor. 

“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant,” she said and he was nearly out the door by the time she finished speaking. She sighed and ran her hand over her face. She turned to Quinn and he was still watching her. She reached out with the Force and felt guilt pouring out of him, along with stress, anger, and fear. It seemed that Pierce’s words had reopened his wounds as well.

An awkward silence fell. Jaesa was looking at her feet.

“Whoah,” Vette said. “That was...intense.”

Eleanora flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry you had to see that, I don’t want you to think that you can’t be honest with me—”

“Nora,” Vette said, “stop. You don’t need to explain. We know what Pierce is like.”

Relief flooded Eleanora and she smiled at Vette. She turned to Quinn next, who was nervously running a hand through his hair, his face pale. When she caught his eye, he flushed and looked down.

“I need to finish calibrating the ship, my lord,” Quinn said.

“Of course, Captain,” she said. “We’ll talk later.”

“Y—yes, my lord,” he said, heading to the cockpit.

Vette rolled her eyes.

“Is this what we have to look forward to, Nora?” she said. “I thought the blushing and stuttering would stop once he got laid.”

“Vette!” Eleanora said, letting out a huff of laughter.

“I mean, he seems a little nicer?” Vette said, shrugging. “You look happy, Nora. You know, other than when you turned into a vengeful Sith lord for a few seconds there. I’m not saying that everything with Quinn is forgiven, or forgotten, but...you know I have your back,” Vette said.

Eleanora pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight. She had hoped Vette would support her, but knowing that she did filled her with warmth.

“Don’t worry about Pierce,” Vette said. “He’s either gonna deal with it, or leave. I like the guy, but he’s got a temper and he was out of line to talk to you like that. What he does now is up to him.”

“Thank you,” Eleanora said. “And you too, Jaesa. Your grace is enviable.” She was proud of her apprentice—of how she had grown since they met nearly a year before.

“I’ve followed your example, master. I am just afforded more time to be one with the Force in meditation than you are,” Jaesa said. Eleanora’s apprentice smiled at her and clasped her arms. “I’m glad you’re back.”  
  


* * *

  
Quinn was straightening the drawers under his bunk, tucking each neatly folded uniform into place. The crew quarters were quiet—Vette and Jaesa were in the common area and Pierce was presumably prowling around some cantina on the Fleet. He hated the man more than ever for speaking so disrespectfully to his lord, and he did not look forward to if and when the brute stumbled in drunk in the middle of the night.

But there was guilt mixed in with the anger simmering in his belly. Everything the man had said was true. Pierce was right—if he had betrayed Eleanora, if he had done what Quinn had, he’d have been reassigned in a heartbeat. She wouldn’t have killed him, but she certainly wouldn’t have kept him on the ship. His lord, usually so considerate of fairness and justice, had dealt more harshly with Pierce for a much lesser offense.

Quinn knew he should be grateful for her support, especially in front of the crew, and he was—but all he could focus on was the fact that he didn’t deserve to be here. He was fortunate not to be facing another court-martial. The thought made him shudder—he had already brought so much shame on his father’s military legacy. He wasn’t sure his mother would have survived a second public disgrace.

He reached into his travel bag and pulled out another uniform shirt and began folding it. 

His thoughts returned to his lord. He had been so ready to move forward, to throw himself body and soul into serving her once more. But now that he was back on the _Fury_ , he felt out of place. Perhaps it would just take more time. He had endured ten years on Balmorra—he could be patient.

Someone entered the room—Quinn turned to the door to see Eleanora. He straightened.

“My lord,” he said.

“What are you doing?” she asked mildly.

“I am stowing my clothes, my lord,” he said, his confusion evident in his voice.

“In here?” she said, tilting her head. “I thought—I hoped you’d be staying with me, Malavai.”

He felt color come into his cheeks. To be able to lay with her, to be able to be with her away from the crew every night—his heart leapt at the idea. But then logic and reality set in, along with his perennial self-loathing. He didn’t deserve that kind of intimacy with her.

“My lord,” he said, “I would like nothing more than that, but I fear that it would display a lack of professionalism in front of the crew. It—it would be improper, my lord.”

Eleanora stepped closer to him and crossed her arms. Her red eyes narrowed and he knew she saw through the excuse.

“Don’t,” she said. “Tell me the truth. I felt that you were upset during the meeting.”

He looked at her, miserable. “My lord,” he said, “I—I am fortunate— _beyond_ fortunate—to be here at all. I begged you for another opportunity to prove myself and you have granted it. I cannot ask more of you.” No matter how much he wanted her.

“Malavai,” she said, frowning, “I didn’t reinstate you for things to just return to the status quo. Or because we’ve slept together.” He felt his face burn. “And it also wasn’t because you’re a talented pilot, medic and tactical officer. I could find crewmen to fill those roles, though they might not do it with your efficiency and precision.”

She took a step closer to him and reached out, laying her hand on his chest.

“I don’t want you to be the Captain who sometimes visits my bedroom,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes hooded. He felt her presence in his mind—felt her consciousness settle against his as clearly as he felt her hand over his heart.

“I know we’ve had—we’ve been through a lot together. Good and bad. And really bad.” Her hand tightened on his shirt and his chest ached. She inhaled deeply. “You feel like you don’t deserve to be here. That you aren’t worthy of me—that there are any number of Sith lords who would suit me better. You think that I was mistaken in offering you forgiveness. That I’m wrong to want you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from trembling. His deepest insecurities, the most hideous, self-destructive beliefs he held about himself were laid bare for her to see. Yet she remained.

“I’m not perfect, Malavai,” she said. “I make mistakes, like everyone else. But choosing to forgive you was not a mistake. I don’t want someone else—I want _you_. I want you by my side, on missions, in the field, at functions. In my bed.” 

“I want you to be my partner,” she said, looking away almost shyly.

He realized that some part of her feared that he would reject her—as if she hadn’t just plucked his wildest, most optimistic dream from where it was languishing in his mind and transplanted it into reality. But he understood why she was afraid—she could feel his self-loathing, she was aware of how keenly he felt that he didn’t deserve to be happy.

“I love you,” she said, and suddenly he _felt_ something in his mind—a trickle of warmth and light that gathered momentum until he was flooded with feelings that were not his own. He gasped as her affection, her desire, her unbridled passion for him filled his mind. He had never felt anything like it, and it made his knees weak and his heart race. His negative thoughts and doubts tried to assert themselves, but they couldn’t find purchase—the fact that her feelings were palpable meant they were undeniable. Her hand began to shake against his chest and her brow furrowed in concentration—it was taxing her to maintain such a connection. He realized that what he must be feeling was the Force, but his mind wasn’t capable of interacting with it. Not without her. Through sheer willpower, she was holding open a door that was never meant to be used.

He closed his hand over hers and held it against him. His eyes stung and he realized they were full of tears.

“I feel you, my lord,” he breathed, “I—I understand.” Her eyelids fluttered as she let go and her presence slipped out of his mind. It was as if a brilliant light had been suddenly extinguished, and the darkness that had been displaced rushed back in to fill the void. But Eleanora gathered herself and was gazing up at him, her eyes glowing with the same warmth that had swelled within him.

Quinn grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. He cradled the back of her head and kissed her as her arms encircled him. Her lips were soft and the feel of her body against his was enthralling. When they broke apart, he smiled at her, stroking one of the silver curls that framed her face. His heart felt like it was going to burst.

“Was that a ‘yes,’ Malavai?” she grinned.

“Yes, my lo—Eleanora,” he said, burying his face in her neck as she embraced him. Her name still felt foreign to him—it took a conscious thought to veer away from her status as his lord. But it was slowly getting easier to be that familiar with her.

“I am honored,” he said, raising his head to meet her eyes. “I believe you know how I feel about you, but I will say it… I love you, Nora.”

He kissed her again, unable to hold back this time—he slid his hand down her hips, grabbing a handful of plump flesh as he pressed himself into her. He wanted her—needed her. In spite of how stressful it had been in the moment, watching his lord’s display of dominance over Pierce had filled him with lust for her. To see her power, to see her just take control—

Eleanora broke apart from the kiss with a note of laughter and looked at him with a knowing smile. He felt his cheeks and ears burn.

“Now there’s an interesting thought, Malavai,” she said, her voice sultry. “We’ll have to discuss this further.” A jolt of pleasure shot through him and ran down between his legs, where his pants were feeling uncomfortably tight.

“Come to bed,” she murmured, pressing a teasing kiss to his lips. He felt a surge of desire for her—for what her words and the playful glint in her eyes promised.

She held his hand as they walked the short distance to her quarters, and he shut the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part 1 of the story. Part 2 will begin next week (here, not a separate fic), and I will continue to update it regularly, usually on Wednesdays. It will go into expansion content and I have what I hope is a good story planned! Quinn and Nora have navigated what they thought would be their biggest challenge, but the universe has quite a bit more in store for them.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading--this has been a really positive creative outlet for me. I appreciate you taking the time to read and leave feedback. I do plan on revising some of the older chapters at some point so feedback at any stage is welcome.
> 
> Also--I just want to point out that it took me 22 chapters to realize I was missing a crew member--sorry Broonmark! Clearly the poor guy did not leave much of an impression on me during my Sith Warrior playthrough. Whoops.


	23. The Wind is Low

Eleanora leapt sideways as the red lightsaber sliced through the air where she had been just a moment before. It tumbled end over end before flying back into Revan’s open hand. There was no time to do anything other than strengthen her barrier when he flew at her, raising his hand and sending forth a blastwave of immense power. She staggered back and fell, pain lighting up her senses as she tried to catch herself. She desperately opened herself to the Force, trying to repair her barrier as Revan raised his hand once more.

But Darth Marr engaged him and Revan was forced to defend himself, peeling his attention away from Eleanora. She tried to get up, her chest heaving—and Quinn was there, reaching a hand down to her as the kolto probe he released bobbed around her. She gripped it and hauled herself upward; Quinn squeezed her hand as she steadied herself, his gloved fingers clinging to hers as long as the moment would allow. Affection welled up within her, and she took a deep breath, recentering herself and her focus.

She ran forward and a blur of dark robes and blonde hair approached on her right, running parallel with her. Eleanora did not even have to glance sideways at Lana to know what to do—her body slid through the motions, muscle memory and the Force taking over. She planted her feet a few yards from Revan and raised a barrier as she felt Lana’s smaller body sidle up to hers, back to back.

Eleanora felt the vacuum in the Force behind her—felt Lana reaching out, sucking everything in—and she opened herself, fed what power she could spare into Lana. Lightning shot towards them, but her shield took the brunt of it—she grimaced as the few surviving sparks struck her foot and climbed up her calf. She felt her flesh burn and allowed her pain and anger to come to the forefront of her mind, drawing strength from it.

“Now!” Lana grunted.

Eleanora pivoted and Lana moved with her, turning to face their opponent. Lana released a barrage of power at Revan—his barrier absorbed the first few blows, but after a few seconds he was stepping back. He was giving ground, and they weren’t finished yet.

Lightning poured from Lana’s hands, striking Revan in the chest and arcing down his spasming limbs. Eleanora leapt towards him and knocked him backwards, then raised her fist and slammed him to the ground. He groaned and stirred, and she held her glowing blade to his neck.

“It’s over,” she said.

“By stopping me,” he breathed, “you’ve allowed the real enemy to linger—to grow in power. You’ve doomed the galaxy.” His chest was heaving as he tried to right himself and failed, laying back down in defeat. His robes had been burned away in a few places, revealing charred flesh.

“You can’t defeat him,” Eleanora said, extinguishing her lightsaber. “Not alone,” she added, “and not by culling thousands to feed Vitiate.” The man glowered at her, his scarred face drawn tight with pain.

“End it,” he snarled, “release me and meet your damned fate.” He coughed violently and thick blood burst from his lips, splattering the ground beneath him.

Eleanora gazed down at him and ignited her blade. She felt everyone’s eyes on her as she drew the lightsaber across his neck, killing him instantly. Although his mistakes were grievous, there was no reason for him to suffer.

She turned to Darth Marr and Grand Master Satele Shan and suddenly the ground was shaking and the air was thick with the dark side of the Force. The last thing Eleanora saw before darkness swallowed her was a blast of Force energy piercing the sky.

A voice was speaking to her—low, hollow, full of malice. Pain lanced through her, as it did every time the Emperor spoke to her. His greed, his insatiable hunger, and his utter contempt for life were overwhelming.

“The scores of dead have nourished me, Wrath. I have returned, and I bring with me death,” the voice said. “But do not fret, my Wrath. You are still special to me. I will kill you last.”  


* * *

  
Eleanora awoke to a throbbing pain in her skull. She brought her hand to her face and tried to sit up, but the change in blood pressure made her head swim and she sank back down.

“My lord,” a soft voice said next to her, and a hand slid under her shoulders. A strong arm braced across her back, gently sitting her up—she opened her eyes and Quinn’s face slowly came into focus. She looked around in confusion. She lay on a cot on the ground at the coalition campsite as people milled about, packing up.

“My lord,” Quinn said, “can you hear me? See me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, balling her fist in the fabric of his uniform shirt—she struggled against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm her again. Despair and fear clenched her chest with a suffocating grip. How were they going to stop him?

“She’s awake,” Lana called as she settled down on Eleanora’s other side. “The Emperor has returned, my lord,” the fair-haired Sith said as Darth Marr and Grand Master Shan approached.

“I know,” Eleanora said grimly, “he—he spoke to me.”

“What did he say?” Darth Marr asked, his fists clenching.

“That he will bring death with him. That he would kill me last,” Eleanora said. Quinn’s arm was still around her back and she felt his grip tighten at her words.

Theron cleared his throat and Quinn stiffened at her side—he released her, blushing, pulling his hands away. She let go of his shirt—she hadn’t realized she was still holding on to him. He busied himself with the scanner, taking more readings from her and punching them into his datapad.

“The Emperor is strong,” Grand Master Shan said, “but he is not as strong as he would have been had Revan’s plan been successful. Do not give up hope yet.”

Darth Marr was watching her, inscrutable beneath the mask. “Grand Master Shan and I have reached an understanding. When the Emperor makes his next move, we are prepared to work together again. It would be the height of foolishness not to realize that some threats are bigger than all of us.”

“Agreed,” Grand Master Shan said, her hands clasped behind her back. “But you should know, Wrath—part of my willingness to ally again in the future is due to you and your conduct. There is good in you, and a desire for peace, although you are misguided.”

Eleanora didn’t know what to say—the Jedi was confounding to her. She could feel the woman’s power through the Force, but when Eleanora reached out, she found an emotional wasteland. It was unsettling.

“Grand Master,” she said, dipping her head in respect.

“Wrath, we will speak before you depart,” Darth Marr said. “Beniko, walk with me.” Lana rose obediently and followed.

Eleanora pulled her legs underneath her and rose, wincing a little as she put weight on her injured foot. Her pants were rolled up to the knee and a bandage neatly wrapped the length of her leg below it.

“How do you feel, my lord?” Quinn asked, his brow furrowed.

“I’m alright, Captain,” she said. She started to reach for him, but dropped her hand—she knew how he felt about public displays of affection and he was already embarrassed. She gave him a small smile instead, and she felt his relief.

Quinn began to pack up his medical supplies, and Eleanora turned to Theron.

“So, uh,” Theron said, “it doesn’t really make sense for me to wish you luck, I guess. Since after this we’ll probably never see each other again, and if we do, it will be as enemies.”

Eleanora smiled sadly at him. “I don’t know about that, Theron. Be a little more optimistic—the galaxy is about to end, we may end up dying on the same side.” She had grown fond of him in the weeks they had worked together. He was complicated—just as tightly twisted into knots and snarls of his own making as Quinn was, but he hid his turmoil under a mask of nonchalance rather than professionalism.

“Ha,” the SIS agent said, uncrossing his arms. “You know, you—you’re not what I was expecting when I first signed on to this mission. You’re decent. More decent than some Jedi are. You’ve got a great team and they’re obviously crazy about you. That one in particular,” he said, jerking his head towards Quinn.

Eleanora grinned.

“Good luck, Theron,” she said. “I do hope we meet again, and that we can work together.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” he said. “You know, me too—and not just because I do _not_ want to be on the receiving end of what I’ve seen you do.”

“So don’t be,” she said with a smile. She pulled Theron into a hug and he went rigid for a few seconds before cautiously returning the embrace. She stepped back as Lana approached, and she caught sight of Quinn looking at her, his hand frozen mid-air as he repacked his medkit. He looked down and kept working.

“See you, Nora,” Theron said. He left, nodding at Quinn, whose eyes followed the man as he walked away. Lana caught her gaze, her yellow eyes flashing in the low light.

“My lord, Darth Marr has just informed me that I am to be the new Minister of Sith Intelligence,” Lana said, almost shyly. “I hope that you approve of the appointment.”

“Of course I do, Lana,” Eleanora said, smiling. “You’re exceptional. Congratulations. You should look up my father sometime if you ever need help.” She was certain her father would approve of Lana assuming his old role—she was talented, brilliant, driven, but not without mercy.

“My lord?” Lana said, furrowing her brows.

“My father was the former Minister of Intelligence,” Eleanora said, “before it was dissolved and reformed. And a dear family friend—she’s close enough to be family, I call her my aunt—is a cipher agent. She’s retired now, but she still does consulting. They call her Cipher Nine.”

She could feel Lana’s surprise—and Quinn’s disapproval. His jaw was tense as he stood nearby, his packing finished.

“I had no idea,” Lana said. “He—he is a great man. I learned much from studying his career—once I was able to access all the redacted information, of course. And Cipher Nine is a legend.” She was silent for a few moments, processing the information. 

“I’ve enjoyed working with you, my lord,” she said. “May the Force ever serve you.” What her pale eyes lacked in color, they made up in warmth—a rare smile crossed Lana’s face.

The two women embraced and Eleanora squeezed her tightly—Lana let out a soft huff of laughter.

“Call on me if you need anything,” Eleanora said as they separated. “And just to stay in touch.”

“I will, my lord,” Lana said, bowing. She walked over to Quinn.

“It’s been a pleasure, Captain,” she said. She held out her hand—Quinn shook it and inclined his head in respect. “And thank you for all the times you patched me up.”

“You have my thanks and my congratulations, Minister Beniko,” Quinn said.

“Keep her safe,” Lana told him, her voice soft. “The Empire needs her.”

“I will do my utmost, Minister. You have my word,” Quinn answered with a bow.  
  


* * *

  
Eleanora sat on the side of her bed, running a comb through her damp hair. She reached for the tumbler of whiskey on the table and took a long sip. Her whole body was sore, and her foot still ached with the dull, constant itch of her healing burn.

Quinn lay on the bed next to her, typing on his datapad. He had been quiet since their return to the ship—she could feel his tension and fear, and other turbulent emotions. It had been months since she had felt such negative feelings from him, and it troubled her.

“Malavai,” she said, “what’s wrong?”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“My lord,” he said, setting down his work, “do you think it was wise to tell Minister Beniko about your family’s identity? She appears to be loyal and honorable, but we have only known her for three months.”

“I trust Lana,” Eleanora said, climbing up on the bed and laying down next to him. “She’s like me—she wants a better Empire and she’s willing to do what it takes to make that happen. And that’s what my father wants too.”

“My love,” he said, turning to fix her with a look of concern, “I fear that your trusting nature will bring you to harm. If—if you had told me what you told Minister Beniko…” He let the thought dangle for her mind to finish—and it did. If she had trusted Quinn with that information only a year ago, her family could have been killed. Her father had a few tricks up his sleeve, of course, but if Baras had known about them, found them—

“I’ve become more cautious,” she said, sounding more defensive than she meant to. “I don’t just trust everyone.”

“May I remind you,” Malavai said, his eyes narrowing, “that not three hours ago you were _embracing_ a high-value enemy target who has compromising information on our squad layout and strategies?”

“Are you jealous, Malavai?” she said as her eyebrows shot upward. “Theron is just a friend—”

“My lord, I must protest,” Quinn huffed, “Agent Shan is a dangerous opponent.”

“Malavai,” Eleanora said, “tell me what’s behind this—it’s not really about Theron. It’s about you.” Insecurity was rolling off him in waves, along with self-loathing. She hated to see his distress, but this was an issue that needed to be addressed.

“This is hardly the time for me to burden you with my problems, my lord,” he said. “Not after today. I—I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m still here, love. Tell me,” she said, resting her hand on his chest. He covered her hand with his and held it against him. She could feel the rapid beating of his heart. 

He was staring up at the ceiling. He was silent for a minute—Eleanora knew his body language well enough to tell that he was organizing his thoughts.

“I—I’ve never told anyone this before, my lord,” he said quietly. “There’s a voice inside my head. It tells me that I am unworthy. Every task I accomplish, it diminishes my achievement, and every task I fail, it rubs my face in the mistake. It tells me that I don’t deserve to be here with you—that I am only a temporary fancy to you and you will tire of me. It—it tells me that I am a failure.”

His jaw clenched and she tightened her hand on his shirt—she wanted to climb on top of him, kiss him until he believed that she wanted him, that she loved him, that he was worthy. But that wasn’t what he needed. Instead, she leaned her head against his chest and interlaced her fingers with his.

He took a deep, even breath and continued.

“Most of the time, I am able to combat these intrusive thoughts with logic and reason—reality contradicts what the voice is telling me and I am able to dismiss it. But sometimes reality supports what the voice is saying, and it happens often enough to lend it credence.”

He paused.

“My lord, the voice is my own.”

She squeezed his hand.

“How long have you endured this?” she asked.

“Since Druckenwell,” he said softly. “Since my father’s death.”

“Malavai,” she said as she sat up to look at him, propping herself up on her elbow. “I’m so sorry. I—I felt your turmoil but I didn’t understand.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then his tense brow. “I’m glad you told me,” she said, stroking his face as his blue eyes gazed up at her.

“My lord,” he said, “it goes without saying that no one can know of this. This sort of...weakness is simply not tolerated in someone of my position.”

“You’re not weak,” she said furiously, grabbing his shoulder. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. A lesser man would have allowed defeat to crush him after his career was deliberately derailed. A lesser man would have gone to seed on Balmorra, giving in to any number of self-destructive vices. A lesser man,” she said, “would have allowed doubt and fear to conquer him a long time ago.”

Malavai stared up at her, his face transfixed. She touched his cheek and he leaned into her hand, pressing a kiss into her open palm.

“I wish your tormenter was an enemy I could defeat for you, my love,” she said, laying back down and nuzzling her face into his neck. “But since it is not something I can cut in half or negotiate with, I am only left with one choice.”

“What’s that?” he asked, squeezing her hand.

“To do my best to make a liar out of it.” 

She kissed his neck and he turned, catching her mouth with his. His arms snaked around her and crushed her to him, as if he were afraid she would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

He rolled on top of her and propped himself up on one arm, allowing the rest of his body to drape over hers as he broke the kiss. His weight on her was familiar. Comforting. 

“Nora,” he said, his voice low, “you mean the world to me. And I have never been happier than I am with you. You—you make it easier to stand my ground.” 

Emotion swelled in her breast, nearly choking her, and her fingers clenched where they lay against his shoulders. He kissed her again, his stubble scratching her cheeks—his tongue sliding into her mouth, seeking hers.


	24. Cinder and Smoke

“Here they come,” Theron growled as the electrical field crackled around them. Emperor Vitiate’s puppets streamed onto the platform—some of them moved at a brisk trot, but a few shuffled along, dragging a useless leg behind them. Quinn noted a young man—a lieutenant, judging by his insignia—whose arm was hanging limply from his shoulder at a sickening angle. If the SIS agent’s plan worked, perhaps he could set the arm while the man was unconscious. _If_ the plan worked. Thus far, almost nothing on Ziost had gone according to plan.

He turned to Eleanora, who was looking balefully at the approaching soldiers. His lord’s face was hard, her jaw set—the unlit hilt of her lightsaber bouncing slightly in her hand. Quinn knew that look—she was furious over the lives that had been lost, and angrier still that more blood would be spilled.

Lightning shattered the air around them, striking one combatant after another, arcing between them. A young woman fell to the ground nearby and Quinn knelt, checking her vitals.

“She’s alive. Pulse is steady, heart rate stable,” he reported, rising to his feet and returning his attention to the oncoming horde of the possessed. 

“She was the closest, she took the biggest hit. It’s working,” Shan said. “Nora, it’s _working_. We did it.” He clapped the Sith lord on the shoulder and ran back to the console, locking the mechanism in place to keep the field up. “We need to contact Lana, see what the next step is—”

Eleanora flashed the SIS agent a brief smile of relief, and Quinn pushed aside the momentary pang of jealousy that arose in his chest. It was the man’s familiarity with her that got under his skin—the easy way her nickname rolled off his tongue, the nonchalant way he touched her. It had taken Quinn nearly a year to relax his instinctive sense of propriety with Eleanora.

Movement caught his eye, recentering his attention. One figure sauntered among the others, approaching with purpose in spite of the electric field.

“My lord,” Quinn said, “to the left. One is unaffected. A Jedi Knight.”

“Master Surro,” the SIS agent breathed, “ _no_.”

Eleanora’s head turned towards the woman—she was now close enough that Quinn could see her large, pale eyes surveying the fallen men. Suddenly she focused on Eleanora and reached out a hand, lifting the stunned body of the young lieutenant with the broken arm. The possessed Jedi held eye contact with his lord as she brutally cut the young man down, tossing his body to the side with a flick of her wrist. Fear and anger rose in Quinn’s gut—the Emperor was utterly mad to cull his own loyal men. As mad as Moff Broysc had been, but with far more power and destructive capability.

Eleanora bristled, took a step forward, fists clenched—and then the woman spoke.

“It has been amusing watching you try to resist,” the Emperor said, his voice echoing and reverberating through the air. “Tell me, Wrath, what exactly do you think you’ve accomplished here? Do you think you’ve even slowed me down?”

Eleanora charged at the Jedi, igniting her blade—Quinn raised his blaster and took aim. But Minister Beniko stepped out of the shadows and aimed a savage blow at the Jedi’s back. With a gesture, the woman threw the Minister against the wall and a choked cry broke from Eleanora’s lips. Agent Shan was running towards the Emperor’s puppet, and the woman’s pale eyes moved to him next. She raised him into the air, the side of her lip twisting upwards—and then she began to convulse violently, her eyes wide and unseeing.

His lord had ripped a cable from the generator and flung it against the woman, penetrating the protective barrier with brute force. The dark red aura faded from the Jedi, who lay whimpering and writhing on the ground.

“It matters not,” the Emperor said, “I care nothing for this vessel. Nor for your friends. This is about you and I, Wrath. Never was one so inaptly named. You are _soft_. _Weak_. But I have decided—things are more interesting with you alive.”

“Make no mistake, I will end you, Wrath. But first, I will strip from you everyone that you love. You will watch them all fall— _every one_. And only then, when you have finally accepted your defeat—when your soft little heart has been broken utterly beyond repair—only _then_ will I allow you to die.”

Quinn’s chest felt tight, his belly clenched with terror as he looked at his beloved. Her face was pale and drawn and her arms shook. He reached out and seized one trembling hand in his own. She squeezed him back and he realized that she was boiling with anger—not just fear.

“It begins here,” Vitiate’s voice boomed, and there was silence.

No one moved for a long moment. Quinn was watching his lord, but her eyes were far away. Minister Beniko groaned as she came to, and Quinn trotted to her, kneeling down and helping her sit up. He scanned her as her yellow eyes slowly focused— _bruising, minor concussion, but no major trauma_.

“I’m alright, Captain,” her rough voice breathed. He helped the fair-haired woman to her feet as Eleanora approached, worry knitting her features into a frown. Agent Shan followed, helping the Jedi hobble along.

Quinn turned to the Jedi and passed the scanner over her, furrowing his brow.

“Well?” the SIS agent said.

Quinn looked at him coldly. “Fever, markedly elevated heart rate, arrhythmia, severe electrolyte imbalances, three fractured ribs—and that’s only the physiological harm. She needs treatment as soon as possible.”

“Then let’s go,” Agent Shan growled.

“The rendezvous point is north, two kilometers away,” Minister Beniko said, clipping her lightsaber back on her belt. “The _Fury_ will meet us there.”

Quinn began to move and Agent Shan followed, but he pulled up short when he realized his lord wasn’t following. The Jedi in Shan’s arms fell to her knees with a low groan.

“My lord?” Quinn said, turning to Eleanora.

She and Minister Beniko were frozen, their eyes wide. The Minister’s face was as white as a corpse. Eleanora’s breast rose and fell, her breathing shallow and rapid. They were seeing, sensing something that he couldn’t.

“My lord,” he said more urgently, grabbing her forearms. She lurched in surprise, as if woken from a dream. Or a nightmare. Her eyes focused on his, and they were full of horror and tears.

“We need to _go_ ,” she choked out. “ _Now._ ”

“Vette,” Quinn barked into his holocom, “we need an emergency extraction at our current coordinates.”

“But there’s no landing pad where you are,” she answered, “that’s why—”

“ _Now_ , Vette,” he said. “I’ll walk you through the landing. It will be tight, but there’s enough space on this platform. I’ve seen you make more complicated maneuvers before.”

“Uh—ok. You got it, Captain,” Vette said. “On our way.”

Quinn slipped his arm around Eleanora to steady her as they waited, but she gripped him suddenly.

“The others,” she said, looking at the fallen soldiers around them, some of whom had begun to regain consciousness. “Gather them up, get them ready to go. All of them,” she added when he opened his mouth, guessing his question before he could speak it.

Quinn obeyed and approached the nearest group of men—two Republic commandos and an Imperial soldier. The soldier was up, but the other two were struggling to rise.

“Get up if you want to live, we leave in less than two minutes,” he said, reaching out a hand to the nearest commando. The man looked at him, doubt written on his face. Quinn clenched his jaw with impatience, about to just seize the man. But then his compatriot, a Miralukan woman, managed to stand.

“Up, you fool,” she hissed at him. “Something is coming. Can’t you feel it?” 

The commando seemed disturbed enough by this to take his hand, and Quinn pulled the man to his feet. Agent Shan was herding another group to the side of the platform, carrying a woman with the help of a soldier. 

“Quinn,” Vette’s voice rang out from his holocom, “I’m descending now but there’s something wrong with Jaesa—I can’t get her to stand up, she’s clammy, barely talking—”

“It’s something with the Force. Elea—our lord,” he corrected, “and Minister Beniko are also affected. Focus on landing the ship for now. We’re taking on,” Quinn glanced around, quickly counting, ”nineteen passengers. Some need help walking.”

His heart was pounding in his chest as he guided Vette through the landing, but he was forced to admit that the young Twi’lek had become an accomplished pilot. The moment the ramp touched the platform, Pierce strode down it. He grabbed the nearest two men who were too weak to stand—one Imperial, one Republic—by the backs of their shirts and marched them up into the ship. Quinn helped Eleanora up, his arm around her waist as she staggered, her hands clinging to him. He got her to her quarters and was surprised to see Jaesa there, laying on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat on her pale skin. But he had no time—he helped Eleanora lay down and ran back outside, pushing past the people filling the small ship. He couldn’t help resenting them—not only were they in his way, but they could already have been in flight if it weren’t for their presence. He had grown to regard his lord’s mercy more favorably after he had found himself its grateful recipient, but if she came to harm because of it—

Pierce shouldered by him, carrying the unconscious form of Minister Beniko. Usually so imposing, the Minister of Sith Intelligence looked like a doll in his arms, her limbs lolling with each step.

Quinn was immensely relieved to see only two more men outside, who had nearly made it up on their own. He herded them in as Agent Shan helped the Jedi up the ramp. Quinn surveyed the platform.

“All clear, Vette. Let’s go, get us into orbit,” he said into his holocom as he ran inside, sealing the door behind him.

In a moment the ship was aloft, and Quinn let himself breathe a little easier. He returned to his quarters and pulled up short when he saw a third figure in the bed— _his_ bed, he thought with some irritation. But when he realized it was Minister Beniko, he understood—Pierce couldn’t exactly have put her in a room with the rest of the rabble, and she wasn’t ill enough to warrant one of the two medbay beds.

He touched Eleanora’s face with the back of his fingers as he ran the scanner down her body— _tachycardic, hypertensive, but stable_.

“My lord,” he said, and her eyelids fluttered, struggling to open.

And then she fainted, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Quinn scanned her again—there was no physical reason for her to be unconscious, which meant it was her connection to the Force. Frustration surged through him, hot and suffocating. He was a skilled medic, but there was nothing he could do when it came to such matters—he felt helpless.

Vette appeared in the doorway and leaned against it, her movements slow and stiff. She looked at the unconscious women, and then Quinn.

“Captain,” she said, her voice oddly flat, “I’ve—I’ve set a course for the Fleet. We’re clear, we’re jumping shortly, we’re—” she trailed off into a whisper. She cleared her throat. “The—the planet—the whole planet—Ziost—all those people—”

“What are you talking about?” he said, setting down the scanner on the bed. He didn’t have time for her babbling.

Vette just shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. She gestured for him to follow and he brushed past her, walking briskly into the cockpit. What he saw stopped him mid-step. The planet that they were rising away from was the wrong color.

He scrambled to the console and scanned the planet while they were still in range—no organic life remained. He took a step back, and then another, feeling his knees weaken. He slumped into the captain’s chair, bringing his hand to his face. Eight hundred million lives. Eight hundred million Imperial lives snuffed out in one blow by their own Emperor. And Eleanora had felt it happen.

The ship jumped to hyperspace and the barren world disappeared.

He gathered himself and walked back to where his lord lay. In the common room, Pierce and Agent Shan were directing people to rooms and restoring order. Quinn checked his lord’s vitals—still stable—and treated the wounded in the medbay. The Jedi—Surro, he’d heard Shan call her—was stable after he treated her, but she was delirious and writhing in agony. He elected to sedate her—not only did he want to avoid having a deranged Force-user on board, but the woman was suffering needlessly.

When he finally entered his quarters, exhausted, Vette was sitting on the end of the bed, staring at the floor. She glanced up and caught his despairing look at the distinctly crowded state of the bed he shared with his lord.

“Sorry about Jaesa, when she collapsed we just put her here because it was closer. We were kinda in a hurry,” the Twi’lek said.

“It’s alright, Vette,” he said, too drained to muster any irritation. “Get some sleep.”

Vette nodded absently and stood, making her way out the door.

Quinn checked on Minister Beniko and Jaesa—they were both still unconscious. They lay facing each other and Quinn noted with surprise that their hands were entwined. He pulled the armchair up next to Eleanora’s side of the bed and collapsed bonelessly into it. He scanned her one more time—still stable. She stirred and he sat up, leaning forward and reaching to touch her shoulder.

“Eleanora?” he said, stroking her soft skin. Her body stiffened under his hand as she awoke, and with a shuddering gasp she turned to him. She scrambled into his arms, burying her face into his chest as she sobbed. 

He held her.


	25. Dearest Forsaken

Eleanora rolled over in bed again, willing herself to rest. But she couldn’t turn her mind from the mission that awaited them in the morning. At 0800 hours she was due to report to Darth Marr’s flagship for their incursion into Wild Space to hunt the Emperor—and she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had coiled itself in her breast. The weight of it made her feel like she couldn’t fill her lungs, no matter how deeply she breathed.

She looked to her left—despite the darkness of their room, she could make out Quinn’s sleeping form on the other side of the bed. She turned onto her side, mirroring his position, and carefully moved closer, not wishing to wake him and have them both be tired in the morning. But she needed him.

Eleanora slipped her right arm under his and extended her left under the pillow, pressing herself against him. He made a soft, sleepy sound as her hand came to rest over his heart, but he didn’t stir. She leaned her head against the back of his, inhaling the scent of shampoo and shaving cream and mint that was utterly _him_. She gently stroked the smooth skin under her fingers, tracing the lines of muscle along his chest and shoulder.

Her mind had drifted away—back to the mission again—when she felt his fingers close over hers. She blinked—she hadn’t even noticed that he was awake, his breathing had remained even and steady—and she opened her mouth to apologize for making him join her involuntary vigil. But before she could speak, his hand was guiding hers—passing over his chest, along his stomach—and further downwards. She inhaled sharply, arousal blossoming low in her belly as his hand cupped hers over the hardness between his thighs.

She took his erection in her hand and heard him gasp softly. She palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder. He let out a low hum of pleasure as she slid her fingers into his underwear and freed his cock.

“My love,” he said as she stroked him with a steady, practised grip. She gently caught the tender skin of his throat in her teeth and worried it, just enough to scrape. His body arched in her arms and he moaned, thrusting into her hand. A thrill of pleasure shot through her and she kissed his neck again, clenching her thighs together.

He rolled to face her and caught her mouth with his, grabbing a handful of her hip to pull her close. Eleanora moaned into the kiss as his fingers rolled the stiff peak of her nipple, his other hand moving between her legs. He slid his fingers up and down her slick entrance, and she cried out as he brushed her clitoris, searing her with rapture. He sucked her nipple into his mouth and pleasure arced down to her core. He worked his fingers against her with military precision—each stroke was perfectly timed. Every so often he would slide past the sensitive bundle of nerves and tease her entrance, just barely pushing the tip of his finger between her lips, making her hips buck into his hand. 

“Yes, Malavai,” she moaned, and hearing the soft, pleased sound he made around her nipple brought her to the edge. One more stroke of his skillful fingers was her undoing, and she cried out his name again as she came, her legs trembling uncontrollably. He was watching her intently, his lips parted—and even in the low light she could see the color in his cheeks. 

The moment she could move she rolled on top of him and in one quick motion she seized his swollen, dripping cock and took him. She gasped as he filled her and her pelvic muscles contracted, squeezing him.

“My lord,” Quinn moaned as she rode him, his hands gripping her ass, his head falling back on the pillow. She leaned over him, her hands on either side of his head as she fucked him. As she devoured the sight of him writhing beneath her, he caught her eye and moved his hands up to hers. She grinned at him, knowing what he wanted, and in a smooth, deliberate motion she gripped his wrists and pinned them to the pillow above him.

She rolled her hips over his, moaning as his cock slid in and out of her. He was staring up at her, unable to contain the noises she was wringing from him. She watched him beneath her—admired his strong arms, the toned muscles of his chest and stomach—the look of complete surrender on his face.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re beautiful,” Eleanora breathed, riding him harder as his hips began to thrust erratically. The way he bit his full lower lip and the twitching of his stomach muscles told her he was close.

“Come for me, Malavai,” she said into his ear, and he obeyed. 

  


* * *

  


“I don’t like it,” Vette said, watching the tiny probe zoom up the side of the flagship as hundreds of small fighters pursued it. The _Fury_ was docked, so they couldn’t join in, and they were all feeling anxious and tense as they sat idle. But they had to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

“They must destroy it,” Quinn agreed, “it could very well be a scout—” 

Quinn’s stomach lurched as hundreds of ships—strange ships, unlike any he had ever seen—dropped into view around Darth Marr’s flagship as the proximity alarm blared throughout the cockpit. Vette cursed loudly from the copilot’s seat, turning to him in horror.

“Shut off that damned noise, I can see them,” he said, and in a few movements of the Twi’lek’s nimble fingers the cockpit was silent. Pierce came barreling into the room, followed closely by Jaesa. Blaster bolts crossed wildly above and around them—Quinn narrowed his eyes when a passing fighter peppered them with a few stray hits. The shields were at 98%, but they were vulnerable.

“Quinn,” his lord said, her voice crackling through the holocom, “this isn’t looking good, we’re outnumbered—we’re being boarded. I want you to disengage from the ship—you’re sitting ducks right now.”

“Prepare to disengage,” he told Vette, who began punching in commands. “My lord, how much longer until you reach us? I estimate that we can remain here safely for another 7 minutes—”

“I’m on the other side of the ship,” she said, “and I’m cut off, we’re surrounded—”

Her comm cut off and she did not respond to further hails.

“Captain?” Vette said, turning to him with wide eyes.

More blaster fire struck the ship—shields were at 87 percent.

“Disengage,” he said, “we can take evasive maneuvers and find a docking bay closer to her. We won’t do anyone any good stuck here.”

“You got it, Captain,” Vette said, “here we go.”

The _Fury_ lurched free of the flagship and Quinn immediately launched into evasive maneuvers, focusing on preserving the shields for as long as he could. But ship after ship buried itself in the hull of Star Destroyer— _boarding parties_ , he thought, his heart racing. But his lord was unstoppable—he knew that better than most. She would prevail.

After fifteen more minutes of silence from her, Quinn had lost much of his former optimism. He straightened in his chair as small dark shapes began streaming out of the flagship in every direction. His heart sank when he realized they were escape pods.

“Quinn!” Eleanora’s voice called. “Quinn, come in!”

“My lord, I’m here,” he said, desperately relieved to hear her voice, but unable to tear his eyes from the rapidly deteriorating condition of the ship she was on.

“Quinn, you need to take the _Fury_ out of here—get back to the Empire, warn them. What we saw last month—the twin invaders—was barely a scouting party. They have to know, have to prepare!” Eleanora said. Quinn’s chest tightened and his mouth went dry—his fingers twitched, half-clenched into a fist. _It wasn’t a direct order_ , he lied to himself, _and therefore I am not obligated to obey_.

“How do you prepare for this?” Pierce growled. “There aren’t enough ships in the entire Fleet to take on this lot, and you can be damned sure this isn’t their entire navy.”

“Something is better than nothing,” Eleanora said, “at least they can set up a perimeter, try to evacuate vulnerable worlds—”

“My lord, I am not leaving you here,” Quinn said, his heart racing with fear as his eyes scanned the readouts, calculating. “The flagship is failing, your shields are below 20%—”

“Go,” she said, “you have to go!”

_No, my lord._

“No!” Vette cried, jumping to her feet, her lekku dancing behind her. “We’ll pick you up, then go. We’re not leaving without you, Nora. No way.” 

“There’s no time,” Eleanora said, “please, you have to warn them, I’ll find a way back—”

“Flagship shields at 3%,” Vette said, her voice small.

A line of small explosions bloomed across the port side of the flagship and he inhaled sharply, frozen. The ship was intact, but just barely.

“Flee, now!” Eleanora cried. “They’re focused on _us_ , this is your only chance to get away!”

Quinn knew he should obey—his fingers were already moving to plot the jump to hyperspace—but they hovered over the keypad. He couldn’t leave her—there had to be some way—his mind analyzed and calculated, searching for an undamaged docking bay as he approached the flagship—

“Captain Quinn,” his lord’s voice rang through the holocom, “I order you to retreat and warn the Empire. _Now_. Lieutenant Pierce, Apprentice—if you’re not jumping in 10 seconds, I order you to take command of the ship and carry out your orders.”

Anger flared in him and he clenched his jaw, his fingers gripping the arms of the pilot’s chair.

“Yes, my lord,” Pierce said, and Quinn felt the man’s gaze settle on him without even having to turn his head.

“Yes, Master,” Jaesa said, and Quinn turned to her in fury—he and Vette could take on Pierce, but not her. She lowered her head, but not before the light caught the tears streaming down her face. 

He swallowed thickly and began his calculations, viciously punching in each command. It took all of his self-control to stay seated and calm—to keep from screaming or hitting something or weeping.

“Jumping in 8 seconds, my lord,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. Fear and anger and desperate longing raged within him. The idea of life without her—of the Empire, of the galaxy without his lord in it—was unacceptable. Just this morning, he had lain with her in his arms—been inside her—it was absurd to think that she would not be with him again. But another heavy blast rocked the ship.

“Promise me, my lord,” Quinn said, his voice breaking despite his iron grip on his composure, “promise me that you will come back.”

“I _promise_ ,” she said, her voice thick, “I promise. Malavai, I—”

The last thing Quinn saw before the blur of the jump to hyperspace was Darth Marr’s flagship splitting in half.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora walked into the throne room at the not-so-gentle prodding of the golden-armored guard on her left. Fear filled her and she glanced down with hatred at the suppressor cuffs on her wrists. But she entered the room with her head held high—and she and Darth Marr both stilled.

Even with their diminished awareness of the Force, Vitiate’s presence was unmistakable.

“You wear a different face, speak with a different voice, and rule a different Empire, but we know you,” Darth Marr said, his voice low.

“You are wondering why I had you captured alive—why I had you brought here,” Vitiate—Valkorion—said. “Surely you must know by now that I do not readily discard anything which may be of use to me.”

Eleanora glared at him, wary—and tired of his endless machinations.

“Join me,” Valkorion said. “Together we can achieve greater things than you can imagine. The Empire you left is but a shadow compared to the glory of the Eternal Empire.”

“I will not kneel before you ever again,” Marr said, grabbing a spear from the nearest soldier and plunging it into the chest of another.

Valkorion raised one hand, and a torrent of lightning erupted from it, engulfing Darth Marr—the blast was so powerful that the nearest soldiers scurried backwards.

“ _No_ ,” Eleanora cried, moving forward in spite of her defenseless state as Darth Marr fell. His body hit the ground with a thud, smoking. Unmoving.

“Do not mourn him,” Valkorion said, “he was weak. Foolish. His ambitions, his Empire, his understanding of the Force—they were all _small_.” 

Eleanora gritted her teeth, anger choking her—she and Marr had not always seen eye to eye, particularly about matters of mercy, but he didn’t deserve this fate.

“He was a better man than you,” she said, glaring up at the man’s calm, arrogant face. His son stood off to the side, watching silently. She twisted her wrists in the restraints, trying to find some way to free herself—

“Enough of this,” Valkorion said. “Marr chose his fate. Now it is your turn. Join me and rule, or refuse me and die.”

Eleanora let out a huff of derisive laughter. “What happened to all your threats about breaking me and killing me last? Why would I join someone who plans to dispose of me? Who slaughters his own people by the millions?”

The man’s eyes were fixed on her with interest.

“Before I returned to this body, I was fragmented—split. Now that I am whole, I can see more clearly—and I can now see that you are like me.”

Eleanora stared at him, dumbfounded. How could he possibly think they had anything in common, apart from the Force?

A corner of the old man’s lip quirked upward—he must have read her thoughts. A fresh trickle of fear ran down her back—she felt utterly naked without the Force, helpless to protect her body or her mind. She shifted her wrists in the suppressing cuffs again, but to no avail.

“You leave a mark on the galaxy everywhere you go,” Valkorion said, his voice low and smooth—almost hypnotic. “In your case, your benevolence—your _mercy,_ leaves lasting impressions on everyone whom it touches. That is, of course, something which will change when you rule—but it is remarkable, nonetheless. Particularly in one so young.”

“You’re mad,” Eleanora said, “or a fool to think that I would join you—become like you. I’d rather die.”

“Hmm,” Valkorion said, “How disappointing.” He walked towards the throne.

“Oblige her, my son,” he said, not even bothering to turn around.

Her chest clenched with fear, despite her bravado—her thoughts turned to the _Fury_ and her crew, and to her family. She desperately hoped that they were safe, wanted to see them again—and that possibility was rapidly disappearing before her eyes. _Malavai, my love, I am so sorry. I made you a promise I couldn’t keep_. Tears filled her eyes, but she swallowed hard and raised her head, staring Arcann in the eyes as he approached, his blade drawn.

The man towered over her, raising his lightsaber—but he held back.

“You came to kill him,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Here’s your chance.”

Before she had a chance to breathe he slashed downwards, cleaving the suppressing cuffs in two. By the time the manacles hit the ground, her lightsaber had been thrust into her hand and Arcann leapt at his father.

The Force flowed back into her, as welcome and sweet and life-giving as water upon parched earth. Her emotions suddenly sprang into sharp relief and she drew on them, fortifying her power. She ignited her lightsaber, desperately grateful for the familiar snap-hiss that heralded the purple blade.

Valkorion had drawn his lightsaber, was dueling with his son—no, not dueling, this was more like a manka cat toying with a rabbit. Arcann was giving ground, growling in strain as he tried to parry his father’s blows.

Eleanora flew at Valkorion just as he slammed his son into the ground and she plunged her lightsaber into his back. A choked cry broke from the old man and he arched back—and then he fell forward. She backpedaled frantically as Force energy, dark and grasping and vile, roared around the fallen Emperor. The energy began to dissipate, but Eleanora felt sick—smothered by the overpowering strength of the dark side. It felt like she was walking underwater.

She crawled away, towards Arcann, who still lay where he fell. She rolled him over, reaching to check for a pulse—and a moment too late she felt the warning from the Force as his fist struck her head with brutal strength. Pain exploded through her skull and her vision went black for a moment. She fell over, dazed, as the doors to the chamber creaked open and Vaylin walked in, followed by many marching feet.

Eleanora rose to her knees, shaking her head in an attempt to stop its spinning. Rough hands seized her wrists and she was once again cuffed, once again suppressed. Her head was pounding, her heart racing with adrenaline and fear and fury.

“Take her away,” Arcann cried, his voice booming through the throne room. “The Outlander has murdered my father! She murdered the Emperor!”

They dragged her through several hallways—she wasn’t sure how many, not with her head still spinning—and into a small white room. She felt a sharp sting in her leg and saw a man pulling a syringe out of her thigh.

Her knees went weak and someone caught her by her elbows on either side—hauled her limp body over to a chamber protruding from the floor. Wild terror filled her and she tried to twist away from her assailants, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. They laid her in the chamber and she had no strength to cry out as the doors closed over her, shutting out the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the angst, folks!
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always, and special thanks to my husband for being my beta-reader.


	26. The Night Descending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn looks for information about his lord. The ladies of Imperial Intelligence confer. Quinn makes a decision.

Quinn paced back and forth in front of the sealed double doors, his hands clasped behind his back. On his next about-face, he met the gaze of the young woman behind the desk—she rolled her eyes at him and went back to her datapad. The gesture incensed him—his growing frustration and irritation flared into true anger. He stalked over to the desk, glaring at its occupant.

“Madam, I have been waiting for seven hours—”

“Captain,” she cut him off, her brown eyes narrowing , “I told you, the Minister sees _no one_ without an appointment. And you don’t have an appointment.”

“Then _make_ me an appointment,” he said, trying and failing to keep his rage suppressed.

“Minister Lorman is not booking appointments right now,” the young woman said in a saccharine tone.

“I’ve watched you book fourteen other appointments just this afternoon,” he said, “ _How_ exactly am I supposed to inquire—”

“You aren’t,” she snapped. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Captain, because you’ve spent so much time pacing in my foyer, but we are at _war_. The Minister doesn’t have time for your inquiries.”

Quinn leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. He took a deep breath through his nose.

“The Emperor’s Wrath is _missing_ —”

“Malavai, enough,” a sharp voice called, echoing in the nearly empty room.

He whirled around— _who_ —

A tall, thin woman strode purposefully towards him, her black cloak billowing behind her. Her dark hair was pulled back into a bun so tightly that not one strand was out of place. Her expression was cold, haughty, and deeply disapproving. Her grey eyes narrowed as they met his.

“Fiona,” he said, feeling himself deflate—his sister typically had such an effect on others, and he had never been an exception.

“Thank you for calling me,” Fiona said to the young woman, ignoring him.

“Of course, Chief,” she answered, with significantly more respect than she had offered him.

“Come, Malavai,” Fiona said, turning on her heel and moving towards the door.

Quinn opened his mouth to argue, but Fiona descended on him, hooking one sharp hand into his shoulder.

“Fiona, I must speak to the Minister, my lord has not returned from—”

“Enough,” Fiona said, “we can’t speak here. Come to my office.”

Irritation surged within him, but he pushed it back down. They climbed into a waiting taxi and rode to Intelligence in silence. Quinn sat stiffly with his arms crossed, and his sister mirrored him.

“Fiona—”

“Wait,” she hissed.

He huffed, but waited until the doors of her office had closed behind them before he rounded on her.

“Fiona, my lord—the Emperor’s Wrath—is missing, and no one will answer my questions, or even hear me out,” he said. “She is a lord of the Sith, equal in rank to the Dark Council, but no one will even _speak_ of her—”

“And why do you think that might be, Malavai?” Fiona said coolly. “Did it occur to you that she might have enemies in the Empire? Enemies who are relieved that she is gone? Enemies who do not want her to come back?”

Quinn glared at her. He knew that his lord had alienated some Sith with her unconventional views, but she had been well-loved by others—and she had been respected by the military. Eleanora had never treated Imperial troops as disposable, and the officers and enlisted men she had served with knew that. But every officer he’d been able to find in Kaas City had merely shaken their heads at him, looking around in alarm as he spoke.

“I must find her, Fiona, you don’t understand—”

“You’re right, Malavai, I don’t understand.” His sister’s voice was cold. “What happened to my brother? My careful, calculating, ruthlessly intelligent brother? Who is this fool walking around in my brother’s uniform, bawling about a lost Sith?”

Quinn opened and closed his mouth, choking with fury.

“I’d heard that you were warming her bed—that you were seen cavorting with her in public on several different occasions. People talk, and it’s my job to listen. But this—this _sentiment_ —I thought you were smarter than this,” she said, her mouth contorting into a sneer.

He took a deep breath, his hands clasped behind his back. He tightened his grip on his own fingers, feeling a flush spreading up his neck and across his face. His relationship with Eleanora was so much more than what his sister had just reduced it to.

“It’s—it’s not like that,” he protested, “Fiona—she—”

Quinn took another deep breath, trying to untie his tongue. Another charming effect his sister’s presence had on him. He tried to assemble some argument that he could persuade her with—but he couldn’t think of anything but the simple truth that drove him.

“I love her,” he said. “Fiona, _I love her_ and she loves me and I _must_ find her.” His voice grew thicker as he spoke and he flushed again, aware of how besotted he sounded.

His sister covered her face with one elegantly gloved hand. She took a deep breath and released it with a huff.

“Malavai,” she said, “you know what the Sith are. You know what _we_ are to them. You served under that vile puppet-master Baras for years—how could you be this foolish?” Her voice had softened almost imperceptibly.

“Eleanora is different,” Quinn said. “You don’t know her—”

His sister raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, and he lost his temper.

“Just because _you_ don’t have feelings doesn’t mean the rest of us—”

The door to Fiona’s office slid open abruptly, and Minister Beniko walked in, followed shortly by Helena. Quinn felt relief flood him—finally, people who would listen to reason. He walked over to the two women, eager for news.

“Minister Beniko,” he said, “I was afraid you hadn’t received my messages.” It was as close to a rebuke as he dared for the weeks of radio silence he’d endured, but the Minister’s face colored slightly.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she said, “It wasn’t safe for me to respond. Even this meeting—if you want to call it that—had to be unplanned—spontaneous. Things are less certain for Intelligence without Darth Marr. Chief Quinn’s office is one of the few places in Intelligence Headquarters without listening devices. My own office is crawling with them.”

“Minister—” he said, his brow furrowing. Then a realization struck him, and his frown deepened. “Chief?” he asked, turning to Fiona.

“Yes,” Fiona said, her expression chilly. “I was promoted to Intelligence Chief. Eight months ago. You might have known if you bothered to talk to Mother or me more than once a year,” she said dryly.

Quinn glowered at her, the sudden guilt making him hostile. He was preparing a rejoinder about how it was a wonder he didn’t call her more frequently since she was just _so_ charming, but then Cipher Nine stepped forward.

“Chief. Captain,” Helena said, “let’s focus on the task at hand here.”

Quinn turned to her, grateful—but her face was drawn, worried. She brushed back a few unruly strands of red hair that had fallen into her eyes.

“Captain,” the cipher agent said, “it’s—it’s bleak. We haven’t heard much, and what we have heard isn’t concrete. I’m sorry, I know you must have been hoping for better news.”

His heart sank. They didn’t know any more than he did. She must have seen his face blanch because she took a step towards him and grabbed his arm.

“We’ll find her,” Helena said, “I know she’s alive. Nora’s out there.” Her fingers dug hard into his flesh and he clasped her arm firmly in response, heartened a little by her fervor.

“She’s not an easy woman to kill,” Minister Beniko said. “And the Empire needs its Wrath more than ever right now. I have spared every resource I can—including a few that I really shouldn’t be sparing—and I am doing my best to keep it all off the Minister of Logistics’ radar.”

“Minister Lorman?” Quinn said. “What quarrel could he have had with my lord? I don’t even know that they’ve exchanged more than a few words of greeting at official functions.” But it had been the Minister’s office who had been the most direct about refusing his inquiries—he scanned his memories, trying to recall if his lord had ever mentioned Lorman.

“He wouldn’t have needed to speak to Eleanora to have a problem with her,” Minister Beniko said, her expression dark. “All he would need is to look at her—the man’s a notorious racist, particularly towards the Chiss. He’s utterly devoid of talent and drive—nepotism got him to where he is.”

“Don’t mince words, Lana, please,” Helena said, smiling and shaking her head. “I also imagine that he’s not too fond of the way Nora operates—she doesn’t make things easy for him, like a more predictable Sith would.”

“Regardless of his reasons,” Fiona cut in, “he has decided that the Emperor’s Wrath had better stay missing. And you are drawing far, far too much attention to yourself, Malavai.”

Quinn stiffened and took a deep breath. He knew Fiona was right—but what other recourse did he have? One way or another, something was preventing his lord from returning—if she needed help, how would any reach her if her disappearance was not even acknowledged?

“Then I will need security clearance to take the _Fury_ and search for her,” he said, looking at Minister Beniko. “If no one else will look for her, I will.” Helena bristled with anger at his implication, but he didn’t care.

“No, Captain,” the Minister said, looking at him sadly. “You won’t.”

“What?” he said, the softness of his voice doing nothing to disguise his outrage.

“If you take your ship out into Wild Space, the only thing you will find is that massive fleet. You will be captured or destroyed immediately. The coordinates where Darth Marr’s flagship was destroyed—”

Quinn’s heart clenched at the memory—the one that played out before his eyes every night in the six weeks since he had last seen Eleanora. Since he had touched her or kissed her or heard her voice. Once more, the flagship hung motionless in space in his mind’s eye—a line of explosions went off, and it split in two—like one of the toy starships he had played with as a boy.

Once more, he felt his fingers hovering over the controls—felt the helplessness and dread that had filled him as he punched in the commands. He should never have obeyed the order.

“Captain?” a woman’s voice was saying. “Captain!”

“Captain Quinn, are you listening?” Minister Beniko said, her yellow eyes narrowing at him.

“Yes, I understand, Minister,” he said, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes.

“You won’t attempt to leave orbit in the _Fury_?” she said, skeptical of his sudden acquiescence.

“No, I will not. But I will not stop looking for her,” he said.

“Neither will we, Captain,” Helena said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t enough, that _nothing_ would be enough until his lord was by his side again—but he could see the hurt and worry in her bright green eyes. He took a deep breath. He was not the only one who cared about Nora, he reminded himself—which made him think.

“The Minister—former minister,” Quinn corrected, “my lord’s father—does he have any thoughts on the situation?” Surely he had connections he could utilize, or leverage over certain officials.

“He’s furious,” Helena said. “He’s got people looking for information all over the Empire. He had the survivors from the recovered escape pods interviewed—they didn’t see her evacuate. The last anyone saw or heard from Nora was when she announced the order to abandon ship.”

Quinn felt his stomach knot and his mouth go dry.

“But what we did learn,” Minister Beniko said, “is that the enemy ships sent troopers aboard Darth Marr’s flagship—men, not just their droid soldiers.”

“They must have docked,” Quinn said, “the small missile ships that penetrated the hull were fully automated—no non-droid soldiers would have survived the impact. And if they docked…”

“They intended to leave before the ship broke up. Perhaps with prisoners,” Helena finished.

Fiona stood with her arms crossed—she looked quite skeptical, but remained silent.

A small, tentative flutter of hope rose in Quinn’s chest—why bother to dock and board the ship if they were just going to destroy everyone on it? Getting her back from the strange, powerful forces that had seized her would be near impossible. But it wouldn’t stop him from trying.

“Captain,” Minister Beniko said, “I know it’s difficult to just sit still right now, but listening and learning is the best thing we can do for the Emperor’s Wrath. For Eleanora. I will keep you up to date to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you, Minister,” he said with a bow.

“Chief. Cipher Nine,” the Minister said, nodding at each woman in turn. “I’d best be going now. I’ve got appearances to keep up.”

The door hissed as it closed behind her and Helena turned to him. 

“I’ll call as soon as I hear anything,” she said. “Don’t do anything to put you on Lorman’s radar more than you already are. What would Nora think if she came back and you’d been executed for treason?” Her eyes were sharp, piercing—she didn’t trust him to sit back quietly while his lord was missing.

“You’re right, Agent,” he said. “I will contact you if I hear anything on my end.”

“Good luck, Captain,” she said, and then Quinn and Fiona were alone in her office once more.

“She can see right through you,” Fiona said, “as can I, Malavai. You’re going to do something foolish. No—no, don’t bother to deny it. I’ll grant you that there’s clearly more to your Sith Lord if Lana and Helena are so concerned for her. But getting yourself thrown in prison or executed will do _nothing_ to bring her back.”

She took a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing.

“The only thing it _will_ do is break Mother’s heart. Don’t be a fool,” she hissed. “The only reason you weren’t taken away in irons today was because of me.”

Quinn stared at her as a roiling mass of guilt, anger, and fear grew in his gut. He tried to think of something to say, but failed—he couldn’t quite bring himself to thank her.

“That was me sticking my neck out for my little brother,” Fiona said as he walked to the door. “Don’t expect me to do it again, and don’t say I never did anything for you.”  


* * *

  
The _Fury_ was quiet, save for the soft sounds of Quinn’s fingers tapping on the ship’s navigation panel. A distant bang broke his concentration, and a few moments later Vette appeared in the cockpit.

“Ok, Captain, I stowed the last of the stuff,” she said. “We’re good to go.”

He nodded at her, and she took her position in the co-pilot’s seat. Quinn hadn’t asked Jaesa or Pierce to accompany him—or Vette, for that matter, but she saw him packing and demanded to know where he was going. And once she knew, she had insisted on coming with him.

It had been six weeks since the meeting with Minister Beniko, and he hadn’t heard anything other than Helena telling him they had no new information. He could wait no longer. It was only a matter of time before the _Fury_ would be requisitioned for the war effort, and then his one chance at finding Eleanora would be gone.

He started the ship’s engines—just a few more minutes to warm up, and they’d be leaving. Anticipation gnawed at him. The idea of doing anything—no matter how much the odds were stacked against him—was thrilling. His sister’s words of warning echoed in his head, but he pushed them aside.

“Ready for takeoff, Captain,” Vette said, her fingers moving swiftly over the panels in front of her.

Quinn took the ship up, and felt his spirits begin to rise with it.

“Two minutes until we leave orbit. Hang on, Nora, we’re coming,” Vette said as the ship gathered speed.

The _Fury_ suddenly lurched and alarms began to ring, the red lights in the cockpit flashing.

“Status report,” he said, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair as the ship shook in place.

“We’re caught in a tractor beam,” Vette said, her face stricken. “It targeted us from somewhere on that defense tower. What—what do we _do_?”

His heart sank. There went his last chance. But then an idea struck him, and he punched in a command, amplifying the scanner and priming the forward blaster cannons.

“If we can pinpoint the source of the beam,” he said, “we may be able to destroy the emitter and break free—”

An impact rocked the ship and several of the displays went dark.

“Quinn, they took out the cannons and the scanner,” Vette said, turning to look at him.

The holocom alert beeped.

“Put them through,” Quinn ground out, suffocating under the weight of the defeat.

“Captain Quinn,” a young officer barked, “you are ordered to stand down and return to the landing pad. Your weapons are not operational, and if you attempt to resist further we will destroy the ship. Once landed, you are ordered to power down your engines, lower your boarding ramp and lay your weapons down.”

The transmission ended, and with great reluctance Quinn brought the _Fury_ back to the landing pad. He instructed Vette to lower the boarding ramp while he shut down the engines. His heart was racing, but he felt almost numb.

Vette was on her feet, her blaster drawn as the soldiers marched on board, the stomping of their boots echoing through the small corridors.

“Lower your weapon,” Quinn snapped at her, “you’ll get yourself killed. There’s no point in resisting.” He laid his blaster and vibroknife on the ground and stepped away.

She glared at him, her red eyes flashing with defiance—but as the first soldier marched into the cockpit, she tossed her blaster to the ground and knelt, her hands on top of her head. An unexpected pang of emotion struck him—he could tell it was not the first time she had made herself small and non-threatening to Imperial soldiers.

The young officer followed his men into the cockpit and gestured at Quinn—in a moment, two soldiers had seized him, wrenching his arms behind his back. He stared furiously at the officer’s smug face—a lieutenant, by his insignia—as cuffs were snapped around his wrists and pulled tight.

“Captain Malavai Quinn, you are under arrest by the order of Minister Lorman,” the lieutenant said. “Take him away, men.”

“The alien, sir?” one of the soldiers said, poking at Vette with the butt of his blaster rifle.

“Kill her,” the officer said, not even bothering to look at her. 

Vette’s face was full of panic and anger. She was so worldly, cunning, quick-witted—it had been easy for Quinn to forget how very young she was. But he saw it now—her bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she looked pleadingly at Quinn. 

“No,” Quinn said, “she is a mere slave. She was following my orders—I am responsible for her actions.”

“Then her death is by your hands,” the lieutenant said, sounding bored. “You’ll have plenty of time to reflect on this _great tragedy_ in prison, I’m sure.”

The soldiers began to drag him away, but he planted his feet, twisting his body around.

“The slave belongs to the Emperor’s Wrath,” he grunted, “and in her absence, her property is given to her apprentice. It took us years to properly break this slave—do you really think your rank will protect you from the fury of a powerful Sith apprentice who feels she has been robbed, _Lieutenant_?”

Vette’s brow furrowed and he could see the outrage dawning in her eyes, but she recovered herself and lowered her head, doing her best to look meek. _If I survive prison_ , he thought, _I’m sure she will have an earful for me_.

The smug look fell off the young officer’s face—relief flooded Quinn as the lieutenant ordered his men to return the slave to the Sith apprentice unharmed. He was grateful for the instinctive fear the Sith garnered among the military, considering that none of what he had told the man was true.

The soldiers grabbed him by his arms and marched him out of the cockpit—he caught Vette’s eye as they moved past her.

“Find her,” he said, his voice low.

Vette stared at him, her eyes wide and frightened and angry.

She nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading, and special thanks to the people who take the time to comment, whether it's a question or a comment or a heart. It means a lot <3
> 
> Find me on tumblr for art and extra info! I'm sleepswithvillains there too.


	27. Sacred Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn reflects in prison, and recalls a memorable evening with his lord.
> 
> There is NSFW art in this chapter.

  
There's no way to temper your thirst  
With lasting impressions or pictures of home  
There's no way to grow that don't hurt  
She growled from the station then hung up the phone  
  
There's no sacred vision like her  
No eye-crushing mountain or jewelry to wear  
There's no granted wish I’d prefer  
Then she to be with me, for us to be there.  
  
“Sacred Vision”  
Iron and Wine, 2009

  


Quinn hauled himself upright, the muscles in his arms and legs burning in protest. He leaned against the concrete wall with one arm, catching his breath. He launched into a series of stretches to cool down—the last thing he needed was a strained muscle. 

Exercise had been his only solace in the eight months he had been rotting in this cell—it was the only time that he could forget where he was. But he had to limit it—he had to take care not to burn more calories than his meager rations contained. He had already dialed himself back to a lighter series of repetitions when he realized he was slowly growing thinner, but he had finally found a balance that allowed him to maintain his weight.

As he pulled his left leg up into a deep stretch, Quinn listened intently—from the silence, he assumed that the inmates on either side of his cell were asleep. He had deliberately altered his sleeping schedule—he slept during the day and stayed awake at night. It afforded him slightly more privacy for his thoughts, and more importantly, it made him easier for the guards to ignore. A sleeping prisoner was a less satisfying target for the casual abuse that some of them practised.

He stretched his other leg and then walked over to the sink and splashed water over his face. He wasn’t scheduled for shower privileges for another two days, so he scrubbed his face and beard with a scrap of cloth, then ran the rag over the rest of his body. He rinsed the cloth and wrung it out, then hung it to dry. He did his best to stay clean, but after the first month he had to accept that he needed to drastically lower his grooming standards in order to stay sane.

 _Stars_ , what he wouldn’t give for a razor.

He pulled his jumpsuit back on and lay down on his bunk. Other than his daily workout, the only other things to do were thinking and sleeping. And he had only woken up two hours earlier, so he closed his eyes and escaped into his thoughts.

He wondered, as he always did, what news may have come to Minister Beniko or Helena about Eleanora. Helena had gotten one message through to him two weeks after his arrest—she had bribed a guard to pass him a hand-written note. She hadn’t minced words; Intelligence was being stripped of resources as the war continued to go poorly for the Empire. She told him that Minister Beniko had made an unsuccessful appeal on his behalf to Lorman.

As the months went by, he began to accept that no one was coming for him.

But the most painful reality of all was that he was unable to look for his lord.

He dreamed of her often.

Some nights, he dreamed of her smiling face, her gentle hands in his—the softness of her body as he lay his head on her breast. The mischievous grin she would turn on him after she made a joke. The desire in her gaze when she caressed him—the taste of her when he knelt between her legs. The rapturous heat and tightness of being inside her.

On other nights, he dreamed of her on the battlefield, terrible in her wrath. Of how they had fought together as a seamless unit—her charging forward, leaving devastation in her wake, and him providing cover fire and medical support. Of how she would fuss over the most minor wound he took. Of how she listened carefully to his strategic suggestions and asked his advice.

And occasionally, on the worst nights, he dreamed of losing her. He had watched Marr’s flagship break up more times than he could count. His traitorous fingers would punch in the command to jump to hyperspace, leaving her behind, no matter how much he screamed for them to stop, to disobey the order. Sometimes, he dreamed of her prone body laying on the floor of the transponder station, her skull filling with blood—the thin wheeze of her breath from her punctured lung. The blaster burns on her back from the droids he had programmed. Of her body floating limply in the kolto tank, tubes and wires protruding from her face.

Quinn took a deep breath and turned his mind to other memories—happier ones. He thought again of her smile—of how it could be gentle and encouraging. And how it could shift into a devilish smirk when she teased him. He recalled one evening—nearly two years ago—that was seared into his memory.  


* * *

  
Quinn stepped in front of the mirror and straightened the collar of his dress uniform. He began pinning on the pips denoting his rank, then attached the medal that he had been awarded after his assistance in defeating Revan. The refresher door opened and he saw the reflection of his lord enter the room. He felt like the breath had been siphoned from his lungs.

“My lord,” he said, turning to take her in fully. Her silver hair, usually piled up on top of her head, hung loose around her shoulders, drawing his gaze downward. The deep purple dress clung to her waist, highlighting the curves above and below, and the plunging neckline exposed the generous swell of her breasts. The lower hem of the dress was an inversion of the top—it raised in the center mid-thigh, exposing her thick, shapely legs. Lust stirred within him, warm and intoxicating. “You look stunning.”

Eleanora smiled at him as she approached and took hold of the front of his dress uniform.

“I could say the same to you, Malavai,” she said as she began to button up the front of his jacket. Her fingers worked deftly and when she finished the last button, she beamed up at him. He leaned down to kiss her, affection welling up in his chest, but she turned her mouth away and his lips brushed her cheek instead.

She laughed softly when she saw the cheated expression he knew had darkened his features.

“It’s the lipstick,” she said, “unless you want to wear it too, you’ll just have to wait.”

He glowered at the offending cosmetic and pulled her against him, his fingers splaying against the small of her back. He leaned down and pressed a kiss where her shoulder met her neck and buried his nose in her silver hair, inhaling deeply. She made a low hum of pleasure as she squeezed him back.

“Must we go to this event, my lord?” he asked, his lips brushing just under her ear. “I can think of several, more optimal ways to spend the time…”

“Malavai, I believe _you_ were the one who advised me to ingratiate myself to Vowrawn—to let him improve my status in the realm of Sith politics in exchange for my support.” 

“Did I?” he murmured against her skin. Desire was flooding him, wrapping him in its clinging tendrils—as lovely as she looked in the dress, he wanted nothing more than to take it off her.

“Yes,” she said, leaning away and running her hand up the front of his jacket. “We will just have to be patient, my love. I know we haven’t seen each other in a week—and trust me, I _fully_ intend to make up for the lost time—but we must behave for now.”

They gave their overnight bags to the driver and got into the luxury transport Vowrawn had sent for them. Quinn sat next to his lord, the side of her leg pressing into his, as the crew chattered excitedly on the ride to the estate.

“Will Lana be there?” Jaesa asked Eleanora.

“I imagine so,” Eleanora said, “she’s the head of Sith Intelligence now.”

“I hear Darth Vowrawn keeps an exceptional stock of Corellian whiskey,” Pierce said. “Only good reason to go to these kinds of things. Though I won’t mind spending the night in his guest suites.”

They arrived at the estate within ninety minutes—Quinn was impressed with its sprawling size, especially considering how many estates Darth Vowrawn had on other worlds. Despite his half-hearted earlier protests, there was no doubt in his mind that it was to their advantage to attend this gathering. Though his lord cared little for Sith politics and machinations, it was important for her to be seen at events like this.

Darth Vowrawn met his lord personally at the foyer and pulled Eleanora in, kissing her on both cheeks.

“My dear, you look utterly ravishing. I see you took my advice about being in the public eye seriously—no one will be able to tear theirs from you tonight,” Vowrawn said.

“My lord,” Eleanora said, smiling up at the Sith-blooded man, “I _always_ take your advice seriously.”

 _Well-played, my love_ , Quinn thought as Darth Vowrawn’s face lit up with delight.

“Come, you must meet the duke and duchess…” and Vowrawn was leading Eleanora away. She glanced back at her crew, her eyebrows raised in resignation.

“Where’s the bar?” Vette asked, surveying the vastness of the grand reception hall.

“There appear to be three of them,” Quinn answered, following her gaze. “On either side of the dance floor, and there is a smaller one up on the second floor balcony.”

“You got the right idea, kid,” Pierce said, clapping Vette on the shoulder. “This one’s the closest.” He sauntered off to the bar on the east wall, and Vette and Jaesa followed.

“You coming, Quinn?” Vette asked, stopping a few paces away and looking back at him over her shoulder.

He was about to shake his head no, to tell her that he would wait a bit longer before joining them for drinks—and then he saw the man Eleanora was talking to several yards away drop to one knee and press several kisses to her hand.

“Coming,” he said grimly, taking a few brisk steps to catch up to the Twi’lek.

He had finished his second glass of Corellian whiskey—a vintage so fine he had never tasted the like—by the time Vowrawn finished leading Eleanora around the room. Vette and Pierce were sitting at the bar, quietly mocking some of the more extravagant and pretentious guests. Jaesa had excused herself and was sitting at a table in the corner with Minister Beniko, where they appeared to be having some sort of private discussion. He was wondering just what they might be talking about when his lord spotted him and approached, Vowrawn in tow.

“My lords,” Quinn said, bowing to both of the Sith.

“Captain Quinn!” Darth Vowrawn said, inclining his head, “you must forgive my rudeness. I’m afraid that while you do cut a striking figure in black, I only had eyes for our dear Eleanora when you arrived.”

Quinn flushed and bowed deeply to Vowrawn as Nora grinned. He was beginning to understand why the man had taken such a liking to Eleanora—they both appeared to delight in keeping people like himself on their toes.

“What are you drinking, Captain?” Vowrawn asked, peering curiously into Quinn’s glass.

“Whiskey, my lord,” Quinn answered. “It is excellent—the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Then he’ll have another,” the Sith-blooded lord said to the man behind the bar, but he frowned when the barkeep picked up the bottle.

“No, no,” Vowrawn said, “not that swill. The man I owe my life to must drink something better. How about the ‘08?”

While Vowrawn spoke to the bartender, Eleanora sidled up to Quinn, the side of her thigh touching his. She traced her fingers along the dark, rippled wood of the bar and then caught his eye and repeated the motion.

He stiffened when he felt a feather-light Force touch on the side of his neck that trailed down to his collarbone, then traced over the hollow of his throat. He felt his face grow warm— _they were in public_ —but he realized that no one else had noticed. Eleanora smiled at him, her eyelids half-closed, then turned her attention back to the Sith lord.

“That’s more like it,” Vowrawn said when the barkeep fetched a vintage from under the bar that Quinn guessed must have cost more than most Moffs earned in a year. The man poured three glasses and placed them on a tray, offering them with a bow.

“My lord, I am honored,” Quinn said, accepting the glass Vowrawn pushed into his hand.

“Ah, you must enjoy it without me,” Vowrawn said, his eyes turning to the entrance, “Darth Acina has just arrived. She’s slowly begun to amass power, make no mistake. I would be remiss not to greet her. Excuse me.”

Quinn glared at Eleanora, who gave him an impish smile and turned to face him, arching her back in a way that she knew would show off her figure. She took a long sip of her whiskey, and then flicked her eyes back up to his. 

“Lord Wrath,” a deep, rich male voice said, “if I may request a moment of your attention—I have been hoping to meet you for some time.”

Quinn and Eleanora both turned to the speaker, who was a tall, handsome Chiss man with dark blue hair. The white and grey dress uniform he wore contrasted smartly with his dark complexion.

“I am Aristocra Saganu,” the man said with a deep bow. “I cannot tell you how much it means to see one of my people rise to such greatness in the Empire. May I speak with you, my Lord Wrath?”

“Certainly, Aristocra,” Eleanora said, turning to place her glass on the bar. When she moved away, she deliberately brushed against Quinn, her breast pressing against his arm. He blushed again, trying to ignore what her touch did to him—and when he turned back to the bar, Pierce was watching him. The man rolled his eyes and downed his drink in one.

It was not the first time that evening that Eleanora had walked away from him on the arm of another man, nor was it the last. It seemed that everyone wanted a chance to speak with his lord—and some wanted to do more than speak. Darth Zhorrid in particular was leaning very close to Eleanora as Quinn watched, trying to quell his instinctive jealousy. And every time his lord caught his eye, she did something to tease him. He was on his fourth glass of whiskey, and while he was not drunk, he was heading in that direction.

When he finally managed to get her alone after Zhorrid turned her attention elsewhere, Eleanora was sipping from a glass of champagne.

“You seem a little frustrated, Captain Quinn,” his lord said, barely containing a mischievous grin. Her hand moved—unnoticed by anyone other than him—and he felt unseen fingers gently dragging down his chest then trailing over his hip bone. He flushed, trying his best to keep his body’s response under control.

“Indeed, my lord,” he said, stepping closer to her, his eyes drawn to the swell of her breasts beneath her low-cut dress. “I’m afraid that I’ve been terribly distracted all evening.”

“Oh?” she said. She moved closer—close enough to kiss if he were to lean down. The sight of her dark, full lips—smirking as they were—was tempting, but they were surrounded by other guests. He had to wait, he must be patient. But his lord was making it difficult, and delighting in it.

“Someone has been teasing me mercilessly. And even worse, I am at a disadvantage and cannot retaliate,” he said, holding her gaze. “No matter how much I would like to.” 

“Captain,” she said, her eyes narrowing further, “only a very wicked person would do such a thing. It sounds to me like they need to be _disciplined_.”

He felt her consciousness brush his, and an image appeared in his mind—his lord, bent on her hands and knees, him looming over her, his hands roughly seizing her hips—

His sharp intake of breath did not go unnoticed by her. Eleanora’s smile widened, her blazing eyes riveted on his face. Need surged within him, flooding his senses. He loved submitting to her, he was utterly entranced when she took control of their lovemaking. But the idea of taking her, of fucking her roughly—of making _her_ beg for once—had his cock straining against his formal uniform pants. 

No, no, she was his lord, it was wholly inappropriate to think of degrading her like that. But she was watching him, waiting—she was testing the waters, eager to know how he would respond. If she wanted to try this—who was he to deny her? He wasn’t sure whether it was the whiskey or his pent-up desire for her, but a sudden boldness possessed him. He glanced sideways, surveying their surroundings—calculating how close someone would have to be to overhear. Then he leaned in, daring the glances and whispers of the others at their closeness.

“You are right, of course, my lord,” he said, his voice low. “She’s been misbehaving.”

His lord grinned with delight, and he leaned in closer.

“I believe corporal punishment may be called for,” he said, watching her face. “We don’t keep a bosun’s cane, so an open hand will have to do.”

To his immense satisfaction, Eleanora’s mouth dropped open and her cheeks flushed purple against her usual dusky blue. For once, he was the one making her blush. The feeling was intoxicating—it was no wonder that she enjoyed teasing him so much. He smirked at her discomfiture and took her hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles. She flushed darker.

“My lord,” he said, bowing slightly as he turned to walk away, satisfaction and anticipation swelling in his chest.

They only stayed for another hour, but it felt like days before his lord finally began looking for Darth Vowrawn so they could make their excuses and head to the guest rooms. When they didn’t see him immediately, Eleanora told Vette that if they were ready to go, to find Jaesa and Pierce and meet her upstairs at the transport landing in five minutes. Quinn frowned—he had been hoping to ride back with her alone.

His lord caught his expression and smiled, then she pulled Quinn into the nearest elevator.

The moment the doors began to close he moved. He seized her arms, his fingers dimpling her soft skin as he pushed her against the wall, pinning her hips with his. He kissed her, ravenous and demanding against her soft, yielding mouth. She made a soft noise of surprise that trailed off into a moan as he grabbed her ass, squeezing her plump flesh and grinding himself against her.

“Little minx,” Quinn hissed, biting her neck as her hands roamed up his back—her fingers clenched against him when he nipped the soft skin of her throat. “Do you think I didn’t see all those people watching you tonight? Wanting you?” He kissed her again, not giving her a chance to answer. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, nipping just hard enough to make her inhale sharply. Quinn returned his attention to her neck, kissing and biting down to her chest—he tried to slip his hand down the front of her dress, where his eyes had been lingering all evening, but he made a low noise of frustration when he encountered the thick material of her bra. If he couldn’t get inside the dress from the top, he’d have to try the bottom.

“Unfortunately for them,” his lord said, punctuated by a gasp as he slid his hand up her thigh and brushed the front of her lace underwear, “I’m _yours_ , Malavai.” A surge of desire thrummed through him at her words and he claimed her mouth once more, his fingers tangling into her silver hair. All those powerful Sith Lords, diplomats, Dark Council members had stared at her, a few even daring to proposition her—and here she was, in his arms, mewling in pleasure as he touched her through the thin lace between her legs.

“Mine,” he agreed, pulling on her hair and tilting her neck up, descending on her exposed throat once more—

The elevator doors slid open with an electronic ding.

Quinn immediately moved his hand back to his side, panic rising in him—he had utterly forgotten that they were not in a private location. He looked over his shoulder to see Aristocra Saganu and Darth Vowrawn waiting for the elevator.

The Aristocra raised one eyebrow.

“Are you getting off at this floor, my Lord Wrath?” he asked, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

Eleanora flushed and stepped out into the hallway, pulling Quinn along with her.

“Captain,” Darth Vowrawn said, “you’ve got a little something—” the man gestured to his own lips with a wry smile. “Have a good evening.”

Quinn stiffened with alarm and turned to look into the smooth, reflective surface framing the doors. His own flushed face stared back at him—and Eleanora’s dark blue lipstick was smeared all over his mouth.

Eleanora laughed at his mortification, her cheeks still flushed, and they both ducked off into the refreshers to clean themselves up. When Quinn finished wiping his face, he emerged to find the transport waiting for him, his lord already inside.

When he climbed in, he was dismayed to see that Jaesa and Vette had sat on either side of his lord—the three women were laughing at some joke he had clearly missed. He had no choice but to sit on the opposite bench. Vette was teasing Jaesa about something, but he wasn’t paying attention—his eyes were fixed on his lord. On what he wanted to do to her the moment they were truly alone.

The ride to the guest wing of the estate was only fifteen minutes, but by the time they were nearly there, Jaesa had fallen asleep on Nora’s shoulder and Vette was leaning on her, her head pillowed on his lord’s neck and chest as she chattered. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“So Pierce just takes off with her—they left an hour ago, probably back to his quarters!” the Twi’lek said, her gaze slightly unfocused from the alcohol she had consumed. “Nora, you’re so _comfy_ , she slurred, “is _this_ why Quinn likes you so much?”

Eleanora let out a huff of laughter, though whether it was at Vette’s remark or the look of intense disapproval that he was wearing, he couldn't be sure. She shrugged with one hand, giving him an indulgent smile.

  


He raised one eyebrow in response.

  


Finally, they arrived at the guest suite, and once Eleanora saw Vette and Jaesa make it into their rooms down the hall, she grabbed Quinn’s wrist and pulled him into their suite.

He was on her before she made it two steps into their room. He kissed her, invading her mouth with his tongue, prompting a soft moan from her. He reached around the back of her dress and fumbled for the zipper, and in a moment he was peeling the purple fabric off, sliding his hands down her soft blue skin. He allowed himself a moment to look at her, take in her soft curves and lace undergarments, before he leaned down and met her mouth with his.

She kissed him again, more roughly this time, and when they broke apart she looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded with lust. Her hands moved to his neck, quickly undoing the buttons she had fastened earlier that evening, and once it was open she slid it off his shoulders and began to work on his dress shirt. When he started fumbling with his belt, she walked away and began tugging at something on one of the dark curtains, and the fabric billowed free on one side. His brow furrowed— _what_ —

And then she returned, a length of black silk in her hands.

His heart nearly skipped a beat when she ordered him onto the bed and he hurried to obey, his cock aching with arousal. She looped the black silk around his wrists and tied it to the bedpost. She slid a finger under each loop, making sure it wasn’t too tight—and then she pulled his underwear off and climbed atop him.

He groaned as she crawled over him, leaning down to kiss him—and then she began trailing her lips along his neck and chest, her breasts, still encased in her lace bra, teasingly close to his face.

“My lord,” he said, his cock twitching between his legs, need pooling in him. He instinctively tried to reach for her, but his arms strained against the silk and she grinned at him.

She reached down and ran her fingers along his stomach, touching everywhere on his hips except his cock and he let out a noise of frustration, his hips canting upwards into her touch.

“Do you want me to touch you, Malavai?” she asked, her fingers running along the inside of his thigh—just the smallest movement and he’d have relief—

“ _Yes_ , my lord, please—”

The rest of his words were swallowed by the moan that tore from his throat as her fingers finally made contact, sliding up and down his length. She teased him, alternating between a firm grip that gave him just the friction he needed and feather-light touches that left him gasping raggedly, begging her for more.

He looked down at her as she ran her thumb around the sensitive head of his cock and he couldn’t stop his hips from thrusting into her hand when she lowered her mouth to him and licked away the trail of fluid she had teased out of him.

“I must say, Malavai,” she said, releasing him and sitting up, “the Force works just as well, but there’s something about seeing you _bound_ like this—”

He gasped when she settled over his hips, the fabric of her underwear—now soaked—rubbing against his cock. She smiled down at him, her hand resting on his chest.

  


She moved her hips ever so slightly and he moaned, thrusting up against her—he didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“My lord, please,” he begged, “I need you, I can’t—”

“Malavai,” she said, and he stilled, though he couldn’t control the way his hips twitched beneath hers.

She reached behind her and removed her bra, and he watched with undisguised lust as her breasts spilled free, her nipples already hard—and he leaned towards her, desperate to touch her. But the tie held him down and he groaned in frustration.

“Nora, _please_ ,” he said, his cock aching—he needed her to fuck him, he couldn’t wait any longer—he’d been waiting all night.

“Malavai,” she said again, leaning down to kiss him, her tongue meeting his, “ _take_ me.”

She tugged on the silk tie and suddenly he was free.

With a growl Quinn grabbed Nora and rolled her over—he tore off her underwear and tossed it aside. He seized her hips, his fingers biting roughly into her soft flesh, drawing a gasp from her as he pulled her onto her hands and knees. He had one focus now, only one desire—and in one swift motion he buried his cock deep inside her, moaning as her slick heat swallowed him.

Eleanora cried out as he hilted himself in her, then pulled out, slamming his cock back in. He tightened his grip on her hips as he fucked her and she moaned his name, leaning her head back.

Then he remembered their exchange from the party—and he slapped her ass, the soft flesh yielding with a satisfying _smack_.

“Fuck,” she said, “ _yes_ , Malavai—” and he slapped her again as his hips pounded into hers.

“Harder, please, fuck me _harder_ ,” she begged, and he let out a low moan as he reached forward and grabbed a handful of her silver tresses and pulled. It still felt somewhat wrong—he should be beneath her—but who was he to deny what she asked for? And hearing the _sounds_ she was making—

He would do anything she asked—anything for his lord.

She cried out in pleasure, his grip on her hair forcing her to arch her back and the next time his hips slammed home, he gasped as the angle took him even deeper. He fucked her mercilessly, punctuating the sound of their flesh smacking together with the occasional slap to her ass. He wanted to fuck her all night, but he wasn’t going to last much longer—not with the way her muscles kept clamping down on his cock every time he filled her.

Eleanora shifted to support herself on one hand, and she moved the other between her legs. In a moment she was gasping, crying out—and he felt her fluttering around him as her fingers moved. Some part of his rational brain, buried deep beneath his lust, told him that Pierce’s room was through the other wall, that he should tell her to be quiet. Instead, he fucked her even harder as she neared her peak. _Let him hear._

“Malavai,” she wailed, and he felt her come around his cock, clamping down and releasing as her legs trembled and twitched and her hips bucked against him. He kept up his brutal pace for as long as he could, then slammed himself into her once, twice more—

And he followed her with a ragged groan, releasing his grip on her hair and seizing her hips, his fingers dimpling the soft blue skin as he filled her with his come, his cock pulsing within her.  
  


* * *

“Nora,” Quinn whispered.

He trembled on the prison cot as he came in silence, the erratic twitching of his hips the only indication of what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the last of the smut until several more chapters go by, so, uh, go big or go home, right?


	28. Weary Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn receives something unexpected, and tries to alleviate his boredom.

Two years, four months, three weeks, and five days.

Quinn blinked slowly, the numbers crystallizing in his mind as he sat up from the cot.

Two years, four months, three weeks, and five days since he had been thrown into this cell. It was a wonder that he was still sane. Some days, when the boredom seemed to wear away what humanity he had left, he debated whether or not that statement was true. 

He dug his palms into his eyes, rubbing the sleep from them.

“You up, Cap’n?”

Malavai sighed and turned to the grizzled man in the adjacent cell.

“Yes, I’m awake, Neljin,” he replied.

“You hear about Jones?” Neljin said, leaning forward eagerly, hands gripping his knees.

“No,” Quinn said, frowning a little. He was always a bit behind on prison gossip, partly because he kept to himself and partly because he preferred to sleep during the common hours. But his interest was piqued—Jones was the worst sort of prison guard. A man utterly lacking in drive and intelligence, not talented enough to get into the Military Academy, but just smart enough to be aware of how much power he could wield over the unfortunate prisoners in his charge. And wield it he did. A shudder passed over his body as he remembered what the guard had done to him in the interrogation room—he could still feel his skin splitting open as the man wielded the lash. There were much more modern methods of abuse that Jones could have employed, but the man took a twisted pleasure in adhering to ancient military tradition. 

“What about him?” Malavai added when Neljin did not immediately elaborate. He was maintaining his outward composure, but he burned with the need to know.

“Gone. Dead,” Neljin hissed with relish. “They found him in an alley with his head turned ‘round backwards. Must have finally pissed off the wrong person.”

Quinn exhaled through his nose, relief flooding him. He flexed the fingers on his left hand—they hadn’t set properly since Jones had crushed them a few months ago, but they were functional. Mostly.

“He certainly won’t be mourned,” Quinn told the man, who snorted with laughter.

“Right you are, Cap’n. New guy started this morning,” Neljin said. “Here he comes.”

A large figure was walking slowly down the corridor, surveying the occupant of each cell. He was carrying something in his hands. Quinn watched him warily—he knew the patterns and behaviors of every guard, and this man was a completely unknown variable.

The guard stopped in front of his cell, squinting in at him. Then he spoke.

“For you. From the former minister,” the burly man grunted. He pushed a loosely wrapped object through the door’s meal slot and held it there until Quinn moved forward to take it.

Quinn opened the small parcel on his cot and gazed at its contents in stunned silence. A folded letter. Several sheets of paper and a pen. A small black comb. Two packages of dried Kaasian apricots. A handful of spices. His hand shook as he lifted a brown pouch of instant coffee—he could smell it even through the paper.

“Was a razor in there, but I had to confiscate it. Can’t risk it being found in your cell. Raise too many questions.”

 _Damn_ , he thought, but he was too excited by the letter to despair for long.

A thought occurred to him and he looked askance at the man—why would he take such a risk? Had Helena or Nora’s father bribed him? Threatened him? The guard saw his raised eyebrows and spoke.

“My brother was stationed on Ziost,” the man said gruffly. “Nearly died when the planet did, but the Wrath got him out of there. Missin’ a leg, but he’s alive. Wife ain’t a widow. Kids still have a dad.”

Quinn looked at the letter and picked it up, running his thumb along the crisp edge of the folded paper. His lord’s mercy had served him once more, years after she had disappeared. He felt a sudden prickle in the corners of his eyes and he clenched them shut.

“Thank you,” he said to the guard’s back as he walked away. The man grunted and kept going.

He opened the letter quickly, the desire not to tear it warring with his eagerness for its contents. Small, neat handwriting was evenly printed across the paper. Quinn settled against the wall and began to read.

> Captain Quinn,
> 
> There is still no news about Nora. I assume that was your first concern and do not wish to torment you for the rest of this letter. I have expended every resource. I have called in favors that I have been holding over certain individuals’ heads for fifty years. There hasn’t been even a whisper, other than what we already know:
> 
> If she is alive—and I believe she is—she is being held in Zakuul. In the Eternal Empire.
> 
> My connections and spies are much more scarce than they once were, so I do not know how much information about the state of the Empire has reached you. The Empire is a crippled vassal state to Zakuul—the Dark Council was wiped out within a year of the first Zakuulian incursion. Only Darth Acina and Vowrawn survived, and Acina is now Empress. Imperial Intelligence was severely scaled back—of the old guard, only your sister and Helena remain.
> 
> Lana Beniko disappeared four months ago—officially, at least. When she saw that Intelligence was being gutted and defanged, she left to find the only hope for the Empire: Eleanora. I helped her build a small team and outfitted her to the best of my ability. There is no way to communicate from Wild Space, but your Twi’lek friend ‘acquired’ and reprogrammed a prototype probe. Lana will release it when she finds Eleanora and it is programmed to return to me. Though it cannot carry a message, its meaning will be unmistakable.
> 
> I did not know what to send you as far as provisions, so Chief Quinn informed me of your preferences. She tells me that she and your mother both have their health.
> 
> I have not forgotten you, or the lengths you went to in your attempts, however foolhardy, to find my daughter. It took time, but I now have a man inside your prison complex. Ramirez can be trusted. Men like Jones will no longer trouble you. I will continue working to secure your release. I have provided you with paper and pen—Ramirez can carry out letters out for you. I will keep you updated with any developments.
> 
> Keep your chin up.  
> 
> 
> -A.

  


Malavai leaned forward and immediately read the letter through again. Grief poured over him, thundering down on his shoulders like a waterfall. In two and a half years, no one was even a step closer to finding his lord. His love. _She’s dead_ , the hateful voice in his head said, _she’s dead and she’s never coming back. And you will rot in this cell until you die._

Anger suddenly sprang up from deep in his belly.

 _No_ , he told himself, _she’s alive. Lana will find her. I can’t give up on her. She would never give up on me._

He turned his mind away from his darker thoughts and focused on the rest of the letter. _"A"_ , Quinn mused. _I wonder if that's as close as anyone outside his immediately family has come to knowing his name._

The Empire’s surrender to Zakuul disturbed him greatly—it was hard to believe that such a thing was even possible. But he remembered the size of the Fleet they had encountered in Wild Space the day Nora was taken from him—and Pierce’s uncharacteristically astute observation that it was only a fraction of their true numbers. If surrender was the only way to preserve the Empire—the only way to survive and eventually rebel—then he understood why the Empress had capitulated. 

But he couldn’t help the feeling of loss that pervaded him—what had happened to the glorious Empire of his youth? The Empire that brought order and rule of law to a disordered galaxy? The Empire he had sacrificed his career and his dignity for? His mind returned once more to Ziost—to the hundreds of millions of loyal Imperial citizens devoured by their own Emperor. 

Had the Empire he believed in ever existed?

He ran a hand down the front of his face and sighed.

“Bad news, Cap’n?” Neljin asked, his eyes glued to the parcel of gifts Eleanora’s father had sent.

“What other kind is there?” Quinn said dryly. “Here,” he said, hopping down from the cot and sliding one of the packets of dried fruit across the corridor, where it struck the door of Neljin’s cell.

The man scrambled to the door and snatched the packet, climbing back up onto his cot, cradling his prize to his chest.

“Thank ya kindly, Cap’n,” Neljin said around a mouthful of the precious fruit.

While Kaasian apricots were a favorite of Quinn’s, he had learned that, in prison, gratitude was a valuable form of currency—and sharing might keep the man quiet about Quinn's good fortune. And he still had one packet for himself.

Quinn stood and filled a cup of water from the small spigot in the corner of his cell and stirred in a pinch of the instant coffee. He settled down to read the letter one more time.

  


* * *

  


Three years, nine months, two weeks, and one day.

Quinn scraped the last bite of his bland breakfast off the metal tray and chewed thoughtfully.

In his free hand, he held the stack of letters he had slowly amassed over past year and a half. By now, he knew each one by heart—could recite them from memory if they were ever taken away from him. But he still liked to read them--he did so every morning. He set the empty food tray on the floor.

He started with the first letter from Nora’s father, as he always did, and then the letter from Helena.

> Captain Quinn,
> 
> Thank you for your letter. It is good to know that you are still whole and in relatively good spirits—Imperial prison has broken many lesser men. Vector and the children are well—thank you for asking. Andronika still talks about the manka cats on Alderaan—her scars have long faded, thanks to your immediate medical attention, but she has not forgotten it. And neither have we.
> 
> Still no news from Wild Space, but we have not given up hope. I know that Nora is out there. If anyone can find her, it’s Lana.
> 
> I debated a long time about whether or not to tell you this, because I don’t know if it will be a kindness or a knife in your heart. But Nora wanted to marry you. So to us, you’re family. It just hasn’t been formalized yet. But I hope that day will come.
> 
> Best,  
> 
> 
> Helena
> 
> P.S.—Andronika sends her love, and this family portrait. She’s become quite the artist lately.

  


Quinn felt the corner of his lip quirk up as he unfolded and looked at the crude drawing—stick figures sprawled across the paper, all labeled with misspelled names. There was Helena, Vector, Ophelia, Andronika, and Erina. Nora’s father and mother were represented by figures labeled “grama and grampa.” And a blue stick figure and the tall one next to it stood under scrawling letters that read “auntie nora” and “uncle kwin.”

He folded the drawing up once more and tucked it into the letter. In truth, the knowledge that Nora wanted to commit to him in that way—forever—was both a kindness _and_ a knife in his heart. To be able to call her his wife—

Tears welled up in his eyes, taking him by surprise—he had become almost numb to the sorrow that he had been swimming in for years. He had wept the first time he had read Helena’s letter, but reading it nearly every day had taken the sting out. But though he took care to handle every letter gently, this one always received a special reverence. It was solid proof of Nora’s love for him that even the negative voice in his head couldn’t argue against.

He wiped his eyes and moved on to the next letter.

> Malavai,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well. Or, as well as you can be while languishing in prison, surrounded by criminals and degenerates. Mother is beside herself, as I warned you she would be. I suppose it would be cruel for me to remind you that I told you this would happen. But I did tell you, and as usual, you disregarded my advice.
> 
> However, you are still my brother, no matter how much shame and dishonor you have brought to our family name. Helena approached me with an idea, and I believe it may be worth pursuing. Lorman is the only one who stands in the way of your release, and Helena thinks that if we go above his head—to the Empress—we may be successful. I will keep you informed of our progress. Mother sends her love, and hopes that you are getting enough to eat. She wants you to write to her, and I strongly suggest that you do so.
> 
> Fiona

  
He folded Fiona’s letter up and moved on to the next one.  


> Malavai,
> 
> It is good to hear from you. I worry about you in that wretched place. The stories I’ve heard have been horrible. But I am glad to hear that you are in good health, though I will have to take a look at your hand when Fiona manages to get you out. Were you able to set it with a splint? I may be able to restore some mobility, depending on the radiographs. You'll have to come by my hospital for a consultation.
> 
> Malavai, I can’t begin to tell you how much it meant to me to read your letter—and I am sorry too. You were not the only one at fault on that terrible day—when we were both too hurt, angry, and proud to hear what the other was saying. The loss of your father left a hole in my heart, and the fact that he died never knowing the truth about his son—about how you salvaged a victory for the Empire from that idiot Moff’s blunder—is a tragedy. But if he knew that you had chosen your duty over yourself, if he knew that you sacrificed everything you cared about—even his regard for you—for the Empire, he would have been so proud. I know that I am. I wish that you had told me the truth years ago. I knew that the official reports must have been misleading—that my son was no coward—but I had no idea that a man like Broysc would be allowed to hold command.
> 
> I look forward to the day that I can see you again. I hope you realize, however, that I will no longer be satisfied with a letter from you once a year. We will have regular visits, and when this woman you speak so highly of returns, I want to meet her.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Mother

  


He remembered when he had first received this letter—three years, three months, three weeks, and four days into his incarceration. Like Helena’s, it had deeply affected him, but for a different reason. He intensely regretted neglecting his mother for all those years—it had just been so much easier to avoid her than try and explain the truth and reopen old wounds. But if nothing else, being in prison had given him time to think—there was little else to do. And he decided that he was finished with avoiding the problems of his past, no matter how painful they were to address.

He placed the letter at the bottom of the pile and opened the most recent one—it had come just last month.

> Malavai,
> 
> Helena and I have made significant headway with the Empress. We believe we’ve convinced her that you are an excellent officer, a brilliant tactician, a talented analyst, and a skilled medic. I strongly suggest that you endeavor to be all of those things if we secure your release—my reputation depends on it. I hope you haven’t gotten rusty sitting in that cell.
> 
> Moreover, Helena has been whispering in Empress Acina’s ear that you were instrumental in the Wrath’s rise to power and success—that you were her right hand man, that you helped plan her battles and campaigns. I don’t know how true that is, but Acina has been eating it up. She’s desperate for any advantage against Zakuul—anything to slow the death spiral that the Empire has spun into. She’s exploring options for releasing you, but has to be sure that Lorman won’t move against her.
> 
> I hope your Sith is as wonderful as everyone seems to think she is. She had better be, with the amount of time and effort I am putting into getting you out of the prison you entered for her sake.
> 
> Be patient a bit longer, little brother.  
> 
> 
> Fiona

  


Quinn folded up the letter and tucked the stack back under his cot.

It had been three years, nine months, two weeks, and one day since he was arrested.

And four years, two months, and three days since he had seen Nora—since he had heard her voice or felt her touch. While the pain of her loss still ached, he had begun to feel it less keenly. He supposed it was his mind’s way of coping. Eventually, the pain of a wound—even a grievous one—begins to get diminishing returns from the body’s pain receptors, and a wound of the spirit was no different.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t miss her. Or that he didn’t spend a good deal of his time imagining what he would say to her upon her return—or what he would _do_ to her the moment he had her in his arms again. He felt a stir of arousal. One of his most common fantasies about her return was—after their mutual declarations of love, of course—he would sweep her into the nearest private room and begin to make up for the wasted years he spent pining for her. And then he would never leave his rightful place at her side again.

He was preparing to dive head-first into that fantasy when he heard the cell block door creak open. He recognized the footfalls that echoed down the corridor—Ramirez. But it wasn’t time for his next meal—he had just eaten—or to go to the shower—why was he here?

The burly man stopped in front of Quinn’s cell and punched a few numbers into the keypad, and the door swung open.

Quinn rose to his feet, his heart pounding.

“Come with me, Captain,” the man grunted, “Someone wants to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna thank everyone for their comments, and for reading! Also, I added art to chapter 12 if you wanna check it out!
> 
> And extra thanks to Tishina for helping me brainstorm logistics and structure for this chapter <3


	29. Freedom Hangs Like Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn has a fortuitous meeting, as does someone else.

Quinn followed Ramirez down the hallway to the interrogation room—while he doubted that the man was leading him there to harm him, he couldn’t help his body’s conditioned response to seeing the white door loom in front of him. It had been years since he had been here—since Jones had him dragged in there yet again—

_”You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you, Captain?” Jones leered, raising his truncheon once more over the ruin of Quinn’s shattered hand—_

“Captain,” Ramirez said again, louder.

“Apologies,” Quinn muttered, approaching the door that the guard was holding open for him. Hope and dread warred within him, and he found his fists clenching as he stepped through the threshold.

What awaited him inside was not Jones, or another tormentor, nor his lord. 

A tall, regal woman in a black cloak turned to him, her face stern—but she blanched when she saw him, her narrow eyes widening.

Fiona.

“ _Stars_ , Malavai—” she choked, then she took a deep breath. Her expression smoothed out to her usual faint grimness, and when she spoke again, her voice was steady.

“We’ll need to get you cleaned up before you see the Empress.”

“Fiona,” he said, “it’s good to see you.” He had never in his life thought that he would utter those words about his sister, and the way one of her eyebrows twitched suggested the surprise was mutual.

But it was good to see her. She looked just as he remembered, though a few strands of her dark hair had turned silver, and her frown lines had deepened.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said, furrowing her brow at him and shaking her head. “Malavai, you look absolutely frightful. Come on, we’ll stop by my flat for you to clean up.”

  


* * *

  


The taxi ride to Fiona’s flat was overwhelming—the blinding brightness of the Kaasian sun, the sounds, the bustle of the people. It felt surreal to be outside his cell. Quinn wanted to look out the window and see the open spaces, the buildings—hell, even the jungle—but his eyes couldn’t cope. So instead he shielded his face with one hand and asked Fiona the one question that hadn’t escaped his mind as he struggled to adjust.

“Is there any news about my lord?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. If any word had come, he knew that Eleanora’s father would have written him a letter.

“No,” Fiona said, “nothing specific, but there have been rumors of minor civil unrest in Zakuul. It’s unknown if Minister Beniko is involved, or what progress she’s made, if any. But what’s important right now is that you make a good impression on the Empress. She’s risked major backlash from Minister Lorman to have you freed.”

“And Mother, she’s still well?”

“Yes, Malavai,” Fiona said with irritation. “Though she won’t be once she catches sight of you. Please try to focus, I need to bring you up to speed.”

Quinn listened with polite interest as Fiona elaborated on the Empress’ expectations, Fiona’s own speculations about what his role might be, and the state of the Empire. It was all information that was vital for him to know, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of numbness that he had expected to leave behind him in his cell.

When they arrived at Fiona’s flat, she handed him a neatly folded uniform and pointed him towards the refresher. Like the rest of her flat, the refresher was minimally but tastefully decorated—but it felt like the height of luxury compared to the prison showers. As he stripped off his worn jumpsuit, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze.

He knew his hair was long—he was the one who combed it, after all—but an unrecognizable stranger stared back at him. His skin had always been pale, but now he was as white as a corpse. His dark, shaggy hair was streaked with grey around his temples, and his unkempt beard was almost entirely grey around his mouth. His eyes had sunken into his head as his body lost its fat reserves—his cheekbones, once refined, now jutted out. His daily exercise had allowed him to maintain some of the muscle on his torso, but he was far too thin. His ribs and hip bones seemed to strain against his pale skin.

He tore his gaze from the mirror and stepped into the shower. His limbs shook as he scrubbed himself and he tried in vain to keep his breathing steady as his chest began to heave. It had all felt surreal, but seeing that terrifying, gaunt man had suddenly plunged him back into reality. Panic surged through him, though he couldn’t explain why. He felt like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

By the time he had dried himself and began to get dressed, he had managed to get the trembling of his hands under control. A firm knock sounded on the door as he buttoned his uniform pants and slipped the belt through the loops.

“Malavai, I’ve called someone to sort out your hair. Just let him in when you’re ready,” Fiona’s muffled voice said.

Even after years of wearing a prison jumpsuit, muscle memory made him start to hook his belt on the second loop, but then he realized that it would be too big. He tightened it to the third loop, then the fourth. He pulled the black undershirt over his head and opened the door to find the barber waiting.

“Miss Quinn said you were in a hurry,” the man explained as he pulled a dining chair into the refresher and gestured for Quinn to sit. As the man began to cut his hair, Quinn’s mind swam with the possibilities his freedom would grant him. With each long segment of black and grey hair that hit the white floor tile, it felt a little more real.

He wouldn’t have to just passively wait for news anymore. If the Empress took him on, he’d be able to keep his eyes and ears open for any rumors or developments, and perhaps he’d eventually get permission to lead a second search party and rendezvous with Minister Beniko. At the very least, he could serve the interests of both the Empire and his lord by helping to keep the government afloat under Zakuulian subjugation. Eleanora had believed that the Empire needed reform—and after the things he had seen, he was inclined to agree—but she hadn’t wanted to see it destroyed. And neither did he.

“You want the beard trimmed or gone?” the barber asked, readying the clippers.

“ _Gone_ ,” Quinn said, “thank you.”

When the man had left and Quinn looked in the mirror again, he nearly recognized himself. His face was still too thin and dark circles surrounded his eyes, but at least he saw a shadow of the man he had been. His uniform was too big on him, but there was nothing to be done about that now. He pulled back his lips and surveyed his teeth—he knew that Jones had knocked out two of his premolars, but at least it wasn’t immediately noticeable. He ran a hand through his hair then smoothed it back down—all except the damned cowlick, which promptly sprang back up.

It was as presentable as he was likely to get, at least until he could get his teeth fixed and put some weight back on. Fortunately for him, it wouldn’t be difficult to avoid smiling. At least not until Nora was back in his arms, and that seemed like a far ways off.

 _If it ever happens_ , the negative voice sniped. _And if she’s not revolted by the withered, decrepit thing you’ve become._

He took a deep breath and pushed the voice aside as he walked out into the flat.

Fiona, who was waiting with her arms crossed, appraised him and nodded curtly.

“Better. It will have to do. Let’s go.”

  


* * *

  


As Quinn walked into the Empress’ throne room, his eyes narrowed at the black and gold Zakuulian banners that had been unfurled to cover the Imperial red. Empress Acina sat gracefully, her silver armor gleaming in the warm light. She eyed him with interest and gestured for him to approach.

“Captain Quinn,” the Empress said as he fell to one knee before her throne.

“Empress,” he said, conscious of how rough his voice had become since that morning—he was not accustomed to speaking so much.

“Captain, I trust that Chief Quinn has briefed you on our situation?” the Empress said, her glowing amber eyes fixed on him.

“Yes, Empress,” he said. “Zakuul has conquered the Empire and is waging a one-sided war of attrition against us under the guise of a peace treaty. To our best knowledge, the Republic is in a similar state.”

“And do you know why you are here?” she asked him.

“To offer my services to the Empire,” he said. He thought of saying more, but instinct told him to wait.

Empress Acina stood and walked down from her throne, stopping a few paces away from where he knelt. Her high collar and heavy armor made her even more imposing. Her dark grey hair was swept up under a silver headband, and a double-bladed lightsaber hilt hung at her belt. And those uncanny orange eyes burned into him, sizing him up. He met her gaze evenly—he would not show any weakness.

“That’s partially correct, Captain,” she said. “But the main reason I risked a conflict with Lorman to pardon you has more to do with the people I’m surrounded by. Every one of my advisors and generals—everyone in the highest tiers of what’s left of the Empire wants to tear a piece off its corpse themselves. To further consolidate their own power. I can’t trust any of them to have the Empire’s best interest in mind.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down at him, her voice growing more passionate.

“Sith infighting nearly killed the Empire before Zakuul ever set foot in Imperial space. If we fall back into old habits and waste even the slightest amount of time or resources on failed power plays, the Empire will _never_ be free. Zakuul will bleed us dry. The Empire was built to _rule_ , not to be in thrall to another Emperor.”

Quinn watched her, hearing the sense and passion in her words. She was right—the Empire would not survive even a few more years of occupation. And what would become of its people?

“I’ve read your file, Captain,” Empress Acina said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Your _real_ file, not the official one. You were a loyal soldier once—loyal to a fault, speaking frankly. You sacrificed everything for the Empire. You were indispensable to the Wrath in her unprecedented rise to power. And I need someone whose counsel and strategies I can trust—who will help me watch and wrangle these carrion birds that circle us.”

Quinn was flabbergasted—this was not at all how he had anticipated this meeting would go. To hear the Empress offer him such a position was overwhelming. He had thought he would be one of many advisors, just another strategist.

“You honor me, Empress,” he said, bowing his head. “I will do my utmost to serve the Empire and you.” _And to find my lord_ , he added silently. He would be more cautious, wait til he had amassed more influence before he started asking about her.

“Excellent,” Empress Acina answered, looking pleased.

“Stand up, Major Quinn,” she said. “I’ll give you a few days to get yourself situated, but I expect you to report to my briefing room at 0800 hours on Monday.”

Quinn stood, then furrowed his brow, his mouth forming the question.

“Yes, you heard me correctly, Major,” the Empress smiled. “You had been put up for promotion before your imprisonment—I am merely fulfilling the Wrath’s suggestion.”

Quinn bowed deeply, gratitude filling him. He nearly had whiplash from how differently his day was ending compared to how it had begun.

“Thank you, Empress,” he said, and when she gestured, he turned to leave.

“Oh, and Major,” she called as he approached the door. He stopped and turned to her, standing at attention.

“I know that you betrayed the Wrath. I was there the day she slew her scheming master on the floor of the council chamber. I also know that she forgave you,” the Empress said.

Quinn stood stiffly, feeling his face turn red with shame, even after the years that had passed.

“Do not think for even a moment that I would do the same. If you make one move against me, for any reason, it will be your last. Have I made myself clear?” Her voice had lost its rich timbre—it was instead soft and deadly.

“Perfectly, Empress,” he said, bowing once more.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora couldn’t breathe.

Her chest was moving, her lungs were straining, but _something_ covered her mouth and nose, denying her what she desperately needed.

Just as agony began to twist through her and tears streamed from her eyes, her nose was free and she inhaled, air and relief filling her breast. Her breathing was ragged and wild—she was in the dark, what was happening—

Suddenly whatever was holding her in place receded and she fell forward, her limbs weak and lifeless. She reached for the Force to slow her fall, and cried out as pain seared across her skull.

The Force did catch her before she hit the ground, but not of her own will.

“My lord,” a familiar, raspy voice said as hands clasped around her upper arms, steadily lowering her to the floor.

“Lana,” Eleanora breathed, another labored groan escaping her as she felt the world she couldn’t see spin around her. “It’s dark.”

“Hibernation sickness,” Lana answered, releasing one of her arms. The soft beeps of a medical scanner echoed—they must be in a large, open room. “Very common after carbonite freezing." 

"Frozen in carbonite?” she croaked at Lana, unable to get a whole sentence out.

“Yes. You’ll regain your sight over the next few hours. Hold on, I’ve got a stim here for you. Get ready, I’m afraid this is going to hurt,” Lana said.

Eleanora felt a sharp prick in her thigh, and after a few moments she felt her limbs begin to tingle as sensation returned to them. Then the tingling deepened, until it felt like her very veins were on fire. She bared her teeth, sucking hissed breaths through them as her muscles seized and twisted.

When she could move again, the first thing she did was turn away and vomit. She dry heaved once her stomach was empty, and then she sagged back into her crouching position, dizzy and trembling.

“I’m sorry, Eleanora,” Lana said, “but we need to go. Now. There’s no time.”

Eleanora reached for the Force again, bracing for the pain—and found that while she was still weak, she was at least able to feel Lana’s presence. And the presence of danger approaching down the hallway—not soldiers, she couldn’t feel them—droids?

“You came alone, Lana?” Eleanora groaned as Lana helped her to her feet.

“Not entirely alone, but I couldn’t risk a larger extraction group. My team is small—if I failed to reach you, there needed to be enough people for a second attempt.”

“Your team? Quinn? Is Quinn with you—”

“I’m sorry, my lord, he’s not. I’ll fill you in later.”

Eleanora’s heart sank—she wanted his steady hands on her, his presence at her side while she was this vulnerable. But then she heard the whirring of the doors as they slid open, and had no more time to think. She felt Lana press a lightsaber— _her_ lightsaber—into her hand, and her thumb slid down the familiar surface and ignited it.

Blaster fire echoed in front of her and her Force-enhanced instincts led her to parry—she heard a droid crumple to the ground as the reflected blaster bolt caught it.

“Thanks for coming for me, Lana,” Eleanora said, parrying more blaster fire and trying to remain steady as another spell of dizziness passed over her. “I—I thought I was dead.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” Lana grunted, and Eleanora could smell the ozone and hear the crackle of Force lightning. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a sketch recently of Fiona--check it out if you're so inclined:
> 
> [Fiona Quinn](https://sleepswithvillains.tumblr.com/post/629272162751135744/presenting-fiona-quinn-malavais-older-sister)
> 
> Also, the last few chapter titles are titles from Iron and Wine songs--credit goes to Samuel Beam. The titles just seemed to fit.


	30. Faded from the Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora and Lana escape from Arcann's palace. Nora comes to several realizations.

Eleanora fell to her knees once more, pain and nausea immobilizing her. She could feel Lana’s frustration—at their situation and at her. The detour to shut down the reactor had cost them time, and the very last of Eleanora’s strength. But tens of thousands of lives would have been lost—and Eleanora couldn’t let that happen. Not after Ziost.

Valkorion’s daughter was proving to be just as cruel and wantonly destructive as her father.

Lana was at her side, yanking her to her feet. She would resent the woman’s merciless persistence if she wasn’t doing it to save her life. Her legs trembled as they jogged along, and the ache in her head made her feel dizzy. But they had to keep moving.

“We need extraction, _now_ ,” Lana growled into her comm, “Vaylin is closing in. Eleanora’s getting weaker. We can’t go much further.”

There was a moment of silence as Lana listened to the response.

“It doesn’t matter, the Wrath _insisted_ on stopping the reactor meltdown, so we can’t reach the rendezvous point,” Lana said. 

Eleanora could only make out vague dark shapes, but she knew Lana’s bright yellow eyes were glaring at her. She smiled in Lana’s direction—she’d endure all the scolding in the world if it meant getting out of here and still being able to sleep at night.

“But if we aren’t on the ship in three minutes we will both be dead and all of this was for nothing. We have to take the chance,” Lana told her pilot.

Eleanora leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, trying to gather herself. Even in her weakened state, she could feel Vaylin’s cold malevolence as she approached. A groan and screech of twisting metal echoed in the narrow corridor, and after a distant crash she felt Lana’s iron grip close on her wrist and haul her forward. She felt wind on her skin—they were finally outside.

“There’s a platform 200 meters front of us, Vette, land there!”

“Vette?” Eleanora said softly, following Lana towards the sound of an engine.

In a few moments, a hand clasped hers and helped her up into the ship. Blaster fire screeched as the ship began to rise.

“Let’s go, she’s right on top of us!” Lana said as she pushed Nora into a seat. Eleanora fumbled for the straps but found them and clicked the safety restraints in place.

“We’re going, I think we—”

A deafening boom made her grip the straps and the ship lurched sideways, rocking back and forth as it righted itself.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Vette yelled, “she just hit our main engine. We’re ok for right now, but we’re gonna have problems later.”

“How long do we have?” Lana asked.

“A couple of hours, tops,” Vette said, “but we’re away from the capital at least.”

Eleanora leaned her head back against the seat and took deep, even breaths. She still felt ill, but being able to rest was making a difference. And she was so happy to hear Vette’s voice.

She unbuckled herself from the seat and stood, her legs still wobbly, and walked towards the sound.

“Nora, be careful! You look like hell,” Vette protested. “Lana, take the helm.”

Nora felt Vette’s weight crash into her, and wiry arms wrapped around her. Warmth bubbled up in her breast—she was so relieved that she was safe, that the crew had escaped the destruction of Marr’s flagship. But a note of melancholy persisted—where was Malavai? Jaesa? She even found herself wondering about Pierce.

“Nora, I’ve missed you so much. We were so worried—I was afraid I’d never see you again,” Vette said, leaning her forehead into Eleanora’s hair.

“It’s been a long time,” Lana agreed.

Eleanora stiffened.

“How long?”

The moment of silence that followed her question made her stomach drop. Vette squeezed her a little tighter.

“Nora,” Vette said, “it’s been more than four years.”

Her fingers tightened on Vette, and then her knees gave out and steady hands guided her back into her seat.

Four years.

“Quinn,” she said, “where is he?”

“Nora…” Vette said, and Nora could make out the Twi’lek’s head bowing as she looked at the floor.

“Captain Quinn was imprisoned,” Lana said, her voice soft and grim. “I’m sorry, Eleanora. I tried to stop him, I tried to make him come to his senses, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Eleanora’s heart was racing and she leaned forward, her hand clamped over her mouth. Four years in Imperial prison—Malavai, in a cage, _alone_ —

Fear, sorrow, and rage warred within her and her arms trembled. Was he even still alive?

“What happened?” she choked out.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora leaned against the hull of the ancient ship and wiped her mouth. It had been three days since their damaged shuttle touched down in the swamp, and one day since their scanners led them to this downed giant. She had been clearing the aggressive local wildlife from the corridors when another wave of nausea struck her and she had just barely made it outside before vomiting.

“You’re ill again?” Lana asked, using the Force to strip and toss away the vines growing over the walls of the ship’s entrance.

“It’s just my stomach,” she said, grimacing. “The headache is gone now. And my vision has been back since the first morning.”

“It’s not unheard of for carbonite sickness to last a few days,” Lana said. “Especially considering the length of time you were in stasis. Carbonite is typically only used for short-term transfer of dangerous or flight-risk criminals. I’ve never heard of someone being frozen for years.”

“I’m fine,” Eleanora said. “I’d better go check on Vette, there are definitely still a few more animals to clear out.”

She walked back down the corridors and stuck her head into the cockpit, where Vette was on all fours under the main console, holding some sort of tool and cursing in several different languages.

“Everything alright, Vette?” she asked. She heard some rustling and a low growl from the corridor to her right—more beasts.

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Vette groaned. “Most of this stuff is intact, which is pretty wild considering how long it’s been sitting in this mudpit. But it’s a totally different system, a different design from anything I’ve seen—but I’m making progress.”

The Twi’lek rocked back on her heels and rubbed her sleeve across her forehead.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Vette sighed, “but I wish Quinn was here. And not just for your sake. He’s better with the equipment side of things—I’m more on the software end. But he did teach me a few things.”

Eleanora felt like a hand had reached into her chest and gripped her heart at the sound of his name. Vette looked up at her and rubbed her forehead again.

“He saved me, you know,” she said, looking away at the mess of wires exposed by the open console. “When he was arrested. I didn’t say it the other night because I felt like we were already overwhelming you with awful revelations.”

“Then tell me now,” Eleanora said. “Please.” She was desperate for any information—anything to help her make sense of the utter chaos that Valkorion and his family had brought into her life.

“They were gonna kill me,” Vette said cheerfully. “You know how things go for aliens in the Empire—well, ones that can’t crush things with their minds. But he made up some pretty creative bullshit about me being a valuable slave and they sent me back to Jaesa.”

“Vette,” she said, not quite knowing what to say. She was proud of Quinn—of course he would defend Vette—but she should have been there to help.

“Don’t give me that look, Nora,” Vette said, turning back to her work. “I relied on you a lot for protection, I’ll admit it—and don’t get me wrong, I will never object to you saving my ass—but these past few years have made me realize I needed to learn how to fend for myself a bit more.”

“I’m sorry, Vette,” she said softly.

“It’s not your fault, Nora. And besides, now I get to make it up to him and see the look on his dumb face when I return triumphant, with you in tow.” Vette grinned over her shoulder at Nora.

“Oh?” Eleanora said, her spirits lifting a little.

“Yeah,” Vette said. “He told me to find you. And we did. Not too shabby for an 'alien slave' who 'isn't wired for military precision,' huh?”

  


* * *

  


As the ship jumped to hyperspace, Eleanora slowly loosened her death grip on the back of the pilot’s chair. Vette looked up at her.

“Well,” Vette said, “Senya was right about this ship. Did you _see_ how many of those guys blew up? In one shot?”

“The _Gravestone_ is everything I hoped it would be,” Senya agreed, walking into the cockpit. “It was the only ship to stand a chance against the Eternal Fleet hundreds of years ago—and to my knowledge that’s still the case today. I can’t believe it was just laying hidden in the swamp for centuries, and you found it.”

“We took a few hits,” Lana said, “what’s our status, Vette?”

“We’ll need repairs eventually, but no vital systems were damaged. The big cannon is offline though. If we find somewhere to dock, maybe we can get it running again before Arcann finds us.”

“There’s a port we can go to—a bit disreputable, not frequented by above-board Zakuulians,” Senya said. Eleanora watched her as she spoke—the woman was hiding something. “It might be a good place to regroup.”

“Asylum?,” Lana asked, one eyebrow raised at Senya. The Zakuulian woman nodded.

“I agree,” Lana said, “I have a contact there who owes me a favor. Handy with ships, too—his crew should be able to make the repairs.”

“Then it’s settled,” Eleanora said. “Asylum it is.”

When the course was laid in, Nora lingered in the cockpit after Senya left.

“Can we trust her?” Nora asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at Vette and Lana. “She showed up at the perfect time, just when we were becoming overwhelmed by her own former soldiers. And she conveniently knows a discreet port where we can get our repairs? It just seems a little too good to be true.”

“My lord, as much as it pleases me to see you becoming less earnestly trusting,” Lana said with a small smile, “I can assure you that Senya is reliable. We’ve been in contact with her—working with her—for nearly two years now. And Jaesa trusts her. Says her heart is sorrowful but true. You know how she likes to get poetic about people’s secret intentions.”

Eleanora couldn’t help smiling in response—she missed the former Jedi padawan. But she understood why Jaesa had stayed behind at Lana’s base of operations on Odessen—someone trustworthy had to be left in charge. But hopefully, if they could get the repairs done, they could reach the base. And they would be one step closer to returning to Imperial space. To her parents, who must think she was dead by now. To Quinn. She clenched her eyes shut against the sudden tears and willed them away.

When she lay down in her bunk that night, she tried to meditate to stop her mind from focusing on everything that she had lost. She had difficulty sleeping since she found out the truth—that four years of her life had been stolen. It wasn’t her body that had been robbed—Lana said that the metabolic process was entirely halted during carbonite freezing, so physically she was still only twenty-five. Arcann had instead stolen four years of memories, four years of time with her family, her companions, and her beloved. And as a direct result of her disappearance, Malavai was likely rotting in a jail cell at that very moment. If he was still alive. He had been at the time Lana and her crew had left the Empire, but that was nearly two years ago.

Eleanora sighed—she was clearly not going to reach a state of oneness with the Force. She had cried the first night, and a little the second night, but tonight she was just exhausted.

What would she even find when she got back to Imperial space? If things were as dire as Lana had said they were, was there even an Empire left? She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t allow these thoughts to lower her even deeper into despair. The fate of the Empire was just one more reason to keep moving forward—to keep moving toward home.

  


* * *

  


Senya flushed under Eleanora’s scrutiny, her pale features growing a little pink.

“Why didn’t you tell us this from the beginning?” Eleanora said, her arms crossed over her chest. That Senya had once been Valkorion’s consort—that Vaylin and Arcann were her _children_ —was unthinkable. But she supposed, as she eyed the woman who managed to be both imposing and noble, even in her shame, that if anyone was strong enough to bear such mighty and monstrous offspring, it would be her.

“Would you have let me on your ship? Would you have taken my advice to go to Asylum?” Senya asked, mirroring Eleanora’s posture.

“Probably not,” Eleanora admitted. “But I don’t like being deceived.”

“It was more of an omission than a deception,” Lana said, angling her head slightly.

Eleanora turned to her, narrowing her eyes. “You knew, Lana?”

Even Senya looked surprised—her brow furrowed as she also fixed her pale gaze on Lana.

“Yes,” Lana said. “Jaesa found out. But we kept it to ourselves.”

“Well, isn’t that great for you?” Vette hissed, her red eyes blazing in anger. “You and Jaesa knew and didn’t tell me? Why?”

“It wasn’t our secret to tell,” Lana said, somewhat exasperated. “As long as it didn’t interfere with our purpose, it wasn’t our business.”

“Awesome,” Vette grumbled, throwing her hands up in frustration. “As if I don’t feel like enough of a third wheel around you guys already.” The Twi’lek rounded on her heel, her lekku swinging out behind her with the brusqueness of her movement as she stalked from the room.

Eleanora looked quizzically at Lana, but Lana just shook her head.

“Later,” Lana said. “What’s important now is that we not get distracted. We need to reach Odessen and regroup—and decide what the next step is.”

“What do you mean?” Eleanora asked, frowning. “The next step is getting back to the Empire.” Back to her loved ones.

Lana exchanged a glance with Senya. “It’s not that simple, my lord,” she said. Eleanora tensed up—she had a feeling she was not going to like whatever Lana was about to say.

“The man I love is in _prison_ because I disappeared—” Eleanora said, trying to stay calm and utterly failing. “My _family_ —”

“My lord, I _am_ sorry, but this is bigger than any one person. We now have a weapon—the _Gravestone_ —that can hold its own against the Eternal Fleet. Against Arcann. We can’t throw such an opportunity away,” Lana said. Her yellow gaze was soft, sympathetic—but undercut by durasteel.

“I agree,” Senya said. “This is the first piece of hope—true hope—for an end to my son’s tyranny in years.”

The idea of not going home struck Eleanora like a blow, and she recoiled. The worst part was, she knew Lana was right. It would do her no good to return to the Empire, even if she could find and free Malavai, if Arcann arrived with the Eternal Fleet and razed the Empire to be sure she was destroyed. But she couldn’t stand the thought of him languishing, suffering—of him thinking her dead.

Eleanora tried to suppress her anger, but it rose in her like fire, catching, _kindling_ —

And then she was diving into the galley, just barely making it to the sink before she vomited. Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the basin and heaved up everything she had eaten earlier that night.

A shadow darkened the door as she rinsed her mouth and the bottom of the sink. Lana and Senya were both watching her with concern.

“Eleanora,” Lana said, “we need to find out what’s going on. I don’t think it’s hibernation sickness—not two weeks later.”

Lana led her to the medbay and sat her down on the bed. Her stomach still felt sour, but she was mostly just worried. She had never been ill frequently—what was happening to her? Was her body damaged by the unprecedented length of time frozen in carbonite? Senya walked over to the scanning console and began to punch in commands, then handed the hand scanner to Lana.

Lana passed it slowly over Eleanora’s body, starting at her head and going all the way down to her feet. She frowned, her mouth becoming small and pursed. She changed a few settings and then scanned her again.

And what little color the pale woman had drained from her cheeks. She swallowed, and Eleanora saw her jaw clench and unclench.

“My lord,” Lana began, her voice serious, then she faltered.

“Nora,” she said, “I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll just say it.”

Eleanora’s heart raced, her mind rushing to every terrible possibility. DNA damage? Organ failure?

“You’re pregnant,” Lana said, her yellow eyes soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so here we go into KotFE proper. It's going to be KotFE-lite, though--I am paring down the story to its most relevant elements and trying not to introduce irrelevant characters. Including Valkorion in Eleanora’s head because ultimately it doesn’t matter whether he’s there or not, whether the player uses his power or not. He’s not gone, but he’s not in Nora’s head either. There are elements of KotFE that I liked a lot, but I also found it quite bloated. So hopefully I can streamline it successfully and keep things moving.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for leaving kudos, comments, and questions <3
> 
> One more note: I redrew the cover art/chapter 6 art and replaced the old ones.
> 
> And here's a bonus [Nora](https://sleepswithvillains.tumblr.com/post/630288982862905344/just-a-quick-and-sloppy-sketchpaint-of-nora) because I'm happy she's back!


	31. Loud as Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanora comes to terms with her circumstances and has a confrontation with Arcann. Quinn receives important news.

“That’s not possible,” Nora said flatly.

“My lord,” Lana said, “contraceptives can and _do_ fail—”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Eleanora said. She felt oddly calm, certain that Lana was wrong. It was the outdated equipment on this ancient ship—it had to be. “Chiss and humans are genetically incompatible. There has never been a recorded case of Chiss-human reproduction.”

Lana crossed her arms, her yellow eyes narrowing. “Couldn’t that be attributed to the lack of data? How many Chiss engage in relationships with non-Chiss? I can’t think of a single person I’ve come across as Minister of Intelligence other than you.”

No. It wasn’t possible.

“What’s going on?” Vette asked as she slipped into the medbay. “Nora, are you ok?”

“Lana says I’m pregnant,” Nora said, her voice small. “But I was just telling her that there’s some sort of mistake.”

Vette’s eyes widened. “But I don’t understand—even if Quinn _could_ knock you up,” Eleanora flushed and raised her eyebrows at Vette, “how could you still be pregnant after the carbonite?”

They both looked at Lana, who raised her hands in exasperation.

“I don’t have all the answers,” Lana said, “I’m sorry, I really have no idea. I’m just telling you what the machine says.”

“When was your last cycle?” Lana asked, her brow furrowing.

Eleanora had to think—and then cold realization trickled down her back, like someone had poured frigid water over her.

“I’m late,” she said, “but I thought it was from the stress—”

“Well,” Lana said, her face flushing a little, “when was the last time you and the Captain were…”

Eleanora blushed, awkwardly touching her hair and looking down.

Vette snickered.

“That’s not gonna be conclusive, Lana,” the Twi’lek said, shaking her head. “Trust me, the _Fury_ is a small ship. Probably could have been any day in the week or two before Marr’s ship went down.”

Eleanora couldn’t help but smile for a moment, but then the gravity of the situation struck her once more.

Suddenly Senya was standing close to the bed, her pale eyes looking down at Nora, not unkindly.

“May I?” she asked, her hand hovering over Nora’s bare stomach.

Eleanora nodded, swallowing hard—trying to push down the growing sense of fear.

The woman’s hand was cool on her flesh, and Nora watched as Senya closed her eyes.

And then she felt her presence, touching her, _within_ her—not invading, just searching.

“Here,” Senya said, taking Eleanora’s hand and pressing it where her own had just been—just above Nora’s pelvis.

Senya reached out with the Force again, and this time she took Nora with her, guiding her, and she _felt_ it.

A heartbeat.

A heartbeat that wasn’t her own.

She blinked away hot tears, unable to deny the truth anymore. Senya’s hand was still curled around hers, and Nora squeezed it, pretending for just a moment that it was Malavai’s.

But it wasn’t.

And she had no idea when she would be able to see him again, or if he was even still alive. She kept her hand over her belly—now that she was aware of the soft, fast rhythm she couldn’t unhear it.

Eleanora hadn’t thought she could want to go home any more than she already did, but now she _ached_ with the need. She wanted Malavai. She wanted her mother. She felt her face begin to crumple and she covered her eyes with her hand.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora stepped backwards as Arcann’s lightsaber struck hers—his brute strength was staggering, even with her barrier. His glowing orange eye bored into her as he pressed her harder. She finally deflected the blow, only for him to hammer down another. As he forced her to give more ground, she had to admit it, if only to herself—the pregnancy had weakened her. 

But she wasn’t alone.

Lana was harrying Arcann’s flank, hurling lightning one moment and nearby storage crates the next. While Arcann deflected it all, it at least pulled his attention off of Nora for a few seconds and she could catch her breath—and try not to vomit. Vette shot her a concerned glance from where she crouched behind a crate, clutching her blaster.

Eleanora looked past Arcann as he reflected Lana’s Force lightning back at her—the _Gravestone_ was only about 50 meters away, but Valkorion’s son had interposed himself between the women and their means of escape.

They needed to go—Eleanora couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Now, Vette!” Nora said, her voice low, and the Twi’lek darted forward, her lekku streaming out behind her.

Eleanora reached out with the Force and lifted the heavy crate, shoving it at Arcann as Vette scrambled towards the ship. He grunted as he raised a hand to arrest the crates’s motion—and Lana made her move. The pale-haired Sith leapt at the man, raining down blow after blow, yellow eyes flashing, her teeth bared with the effort. 

But suddenly Arcann turned, hurling Lana several yards away, and Eleanora instinctively dashed towards him, determined to protect Lana—

And Arcann seized Eleanora with the Force, holding her in place just a hand’s breadth away from him. Anger filled her and she glared at him, pushing back with all her might—she wasn’t strong enough to throw him off. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

His uncovered eye stared back at her, growing narrower and narrower as he slowly closed his fist, and Nora clutched at her throat as she felt his invisible fingers tighten.

He leaned closer, his fist trembling with the effort of overcoming her resistance—and she drew on her anger, her fear— _Malavai_ , she needed to see him again—to return to him, she had _promised_. And the baby, _their_ baby—

The bright, furious eye inches from her own suddenly widened.

“You’re with child,” Arcann said, his rough voice raising in surprise. His grip slackened for a moment—just a moment—

And blaster cannon fire erupted from the _Gravestone_ , blowing him backward and off the hangar platform. Eleanora staggered as she was released, and Lana was there, steadying her.

“Let’s go,” Lana said, and in a few seconds they were climbing the boarding ramp.

As the ship slowly rose, Eleanora looked out the viewscreen—Arcann had landed on a stairwell below the docking bay and was slowly climbing to his feet. Her heart was still pounding and her hand went to her throat, where she could feel bruises beginning to form. She fought against the panic that was threatening to overtake her—how was she going to defeat him in this state? Her other hand dropped to her belly. She had leapt at Arcann, put herself in harm’s way for her companions, as she had always done—but now it wasn’t just her own safety she was risking.

“Vette, Senya is signaling from a landing pad two kilometers away—we’ll pick her up and leave this deathtrap,” Lana said, “and regroup at Odessen.”

“Took long enough for them to repair the cannon,” Vette grumbled. “Shoulda left Asylum a week ago. He was bound to come sniffing around here.”

Eleanora was barely listening—all she could focus on was the memory of Arcann’s grip on her throat and the thready pulse low in her belly.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora poured herself another cup of tea, warming her hands as she held it between them. After a long moment, she reached for a plain cracker and took a bite. Her stomach was still volatile, but ever since Senya had advised her to eat small amounts more often, she was sick less often.

Jaesa and Lana sat opposite her. Her apprentice— _former apprentice_ , she corrected herself, since Jaesa was now a full-fledged Sith—was resting her head on Lana’s shoulder. It was about as much public affection as she had seen between them, since they were both rather private, but it still made her smile. She was happy for them, though she wished she had been able to attend the wedding. She had missed so many things while she was locked away in carbonite. 

And Eleanora was only the smallest bit envious of them—of their happiness in spite of the grim nature of their mission to stop Arcann and his Eternal Fleet.

But for now, they were waiting—Theron had told them when he arrived that others were coming after him. And sure enough, in the weeks since their arrival at Odessen, ship after ship had appeared. Reinforcements were trickling in—some from the Republic, others from the Empire—even a few resistance cells from Zakuul. An army was slowly amassing, and with every handful of fighters, every shipment of weapons and resources, Eleanora was beginning to feel that they might stand a chance.

Theron leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head.

“So, what are you gonna do, Nora? I mean, are you...uh...keeping it?” he asked. _Not exactly diplomatic_ , she thought. 

Vette shot him an incredulous look. "What the fuck, Theron?"

"No, I didn't—that's not—" Theron rubbed his hair with one hand, furrowing his brow. "What I'm trying to say, Nora, is that I'm with you. Whatever you wanna do."

Eleanora stared down into her tea, trying not to be too envious of the Corellian whiskey in front of her companions. She licked her lips before she spoke.

“Yes, I am. I—I know the timing is awful. And that it will make everything more dangerous, and the circumstances couldn’t be worse,” she breathed. “I don’t know if Malavai is even alive, but I have to believe he is.”

She _had_ to.

“I never thought we could have children—and I want this,” Eleanora said, raising her eyes to Theron’s. She knew that their mission would be harder with her in this state, and she felt guilty about it—they would all be in more danger. 

Theron studied her for a long moment, and then nodded.

“We’re here because of you, Nora,” Theron said, waving his hand to indicate the base that they had begun to construct. “All these people oppose Arcann, but a lot of them, Imps and Republic, are here because of _you_.”

“Theron’s right,” Lana said, leaning forward. “There are officers you aided, medics you defended, soldiers who were stationed on Ziost. There are even several Jedi here—do you recall a Master Timmns? And Aristocra Saganu of the Ascendancy arrives in two days with thirty ships full of elite commandos.”

Eleanora stared at Lana, emotion swelling in her—she had found herself moved more quickly to anger or tears recently, but she had tried so hard to do the right thing, to help people. And to hear that they remembered, that they were here to help _her_ —

Vette took her hand under the table and squeezed it.

“There really isn’t much point in trying to hide how you feel, Nora,” Vette said. “Not with Jaesa around.”

Her former apprentice had the decency to flush a little, but she smiled.

“We’re behind you, Nora,” Vette said, “and don’t you dare spend another minute worrying about us. We’re gonna topple Arcann, just like we got rid of Baras and Revan.”

“Eleanora,” Jaesa said, “you spent years protecting us—let us return the favor.”

“We’ll get you back to your Captain, Nora,” Lana said. Eleanora gave her a watery smile—she allowed hope to swell a little within her.

“The man is utterly mad about you,” Lana continued, the corner of her small mouth turning upwards. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone more stubborn. Think of how delighted he will be to see you.”

  


* * *

  


Quinn stepped into the taxi, setting down his bag and then reaching over awkwardly to shut the door with his right hand. His left hand ached where it rested in the temporary cast, but his mother said the surgery had gone well—that they expected him to regain most of the mobility he had lost when the fractures had healed so haphazardly in prison.

He watched Kaas City fly past in the windows, his thoughts returning to his mother. How happy she had been to see him, and how her face had darkened as her colleague examined the damage to his hand. Thankfully he had already gotten implants to replace his missing teeth—there was no need for her to brood over that as well. He ran his tongue over the replacement premolars—they still felt a little odd, considering how long he had been without them.

But he was beginning to look and feel a bit more like himself. And serving the Empress had given him an immediate purpose, in addition to his goal of finding Eleanora—and he felt _useful_ again. He was grateful for that—and for every day that he didn’t wake up in a cell, thanks to Fiona’s aid.

When Quinn arrived back at his quarters in the Empress’ stronghold, he set his bag down on the counter and began to unpack the supplies and gifts his mother had given him. He pulled out several packages of calorie-dense nutrient bars—she had expressed disapproval with his weight and stuffed his bag with them.

He was digging out the bottles of pain medication when his comm chimed. He huffed when he realized it was on his right wrist and he had no way to answer it. He hurried to the comm unit in his office and punched in his authorization code.

A figure rose in the center of the platform—a woman.

“Major,” Helena said, her voice low and urgent. “It’s—Nora, the probe. The probe is back.”

He felt the breath leave his lungs, and his stomach tightened.

“When?” he croaked, his voice nearly strangled with emotion.

“Not even an hour ago. I just got off the comm with her father,” Helena said, gripping her arms with her hands.

She was _alive_. She was alive and Lana had found her.

When he had thanked Helena and ended the call, he collapsed into his chair.

He buried his face in his hand as a violent sob escaped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started a companion fic that will have oneshots, AUs, cut scenes, and (hopefully!) prompt responses:
> 
> [Love and Some Verses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850526/chapters/65510950)
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	32. Each Coming Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn encounters an unexpected sight and deals with Imperial palace intrigue. Nora receives news of a visitor.

“The answer is still no, Major,” Empress Acina said, glancing at him sideways as they walked out of the Imperial palace. “I _am_ sorry,” she said, a bit more amiably, “but I need you here. Perhaps I have not done a good enough job of telling you how invaluable your advice and service have been.”

Quinn clenched his teeth and controlled the anger that welled up in his breast. It had been three weeks since he learned that his lord was alive—and three weeks of him being denied leave to go to her. Fiona had been furious that he’d even asked the Empress, and made him promise that he wouldn’t do anything foolish this time. And Helena had been grounded as well—Nora’s father had warned them that they were being watched very closely.

But Quinn had learned his lesson—four years in prison had left their mark on him, in body and spirit. He had been able to assure Fiona—genuinely this time—that he would not disobey the Empress, though from his sister’s grim expression, it was obvious that she had her doubts.

He would have to content himself with the knowledge that he would see her again.

“Thank you, Empress,” he said stiffly as he scanned the crowds of people. “I am happy to have been of some service.” There had been a time in his life when he would have been overwhelmed to hear such praise fall from the lips of a powerful superior—and an _Empress_ , no less. And it did please him to be here, aiding the Empire in its darkest hour. But his lord’s absence ached with a fresh, sharp pain, like a wound that had split open years after it scarred over.

He turned his head, his eyes moving over the throngs of citizens and soldiers browsing the open market that convened every Friday afternoon. The Empress said it was important to be seen here, browsing local, Kaasian goods, rather than relying on imports from their oppressor. There had never been any trouble, but he was always alert.

And then his heart stopped.

Silver hair flashed in the bright sunlight as she pulled down her hood, and the crowd thinned just enough for him to catch sight of her plump figure, though it was shrouded in a dark blue cloak.

The Empress, astute as ever, noticed his sharp intake of breath and followed his gaze.

And then the woman was moving through the crowd, approaching a nearby fruit vendor, and disappointment flooded him when she stepped out into the open.

What he had taken for silver hair was actually blonde upon closer inspection, and the girl’s skin was fair, not the lovely shade of blue that he wanted it to be. She was haggling with the apricot vendor as she picked out several choice fruits and packed them into her satchel.

“One of Lord Eldrin’s girls, if I’m not mistaken,” the Empress mused. Quinn frowned—Eldrin was a minor Sith lord who frequently dropped in to grovel before Acina, and he did not have a high opinion of the man.

“You should take her,” the Empress said, her amber eyes flashing at him with amusement. “He could hardly complain about losing one of them, especially if I ask.”

Quinn gaped at her, mortification and outrage warring for dominance and leaving his cheeks burning and his mouth dry.

“Empress, I am faithful to my lord—I would _never_ —”

The Empress chuckled, her eyes returning to the girl, then fixing on his once more.

“An honorable sentiment, Major, but surely not one that you can expect the Wrath to return, especially after all these years.” When she saw his furrowed brows and the real anger coming into his face, she continued. “I mean no slight against her—you misunderstand me.”

The Empress turned to face him fully, reaching out and patting his shoulder in a distinctly patronizing way as he seethed at her implication.

“She is _Sith_. You forget that I have seen her fight—she is ruled by passion, as she should be. And she is young,” Empress Acina said, giving him an almost wistful smile. “When I was her age, I don’t think I kept a lover for more than a month. And I have no doubt that she cared for you—your devotion to her is admirable—but you should be prepared for reality, Major.”

Quinn opened and closed his mouth several times, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides—he shifted into parade rest to conceal his tension. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything that would be remotely polite, so he bit his tongue. He told himself that she was wrong, so wrong—Nora would wait for him. Of course she would. Wouldn’t she?

“Come,” she said, patting his shoulder again. “We have several meetings to attend, and I want you to present your weapons manufacturing efficiency overhaul to Lormann.”

Quinn took a deep breath and followed the Empress, keeping a firm grip on his emotions.

  


* * *

  


Quinn knew something was wrong the moment he stepped into his quarters—the door hadn’t been fully latched and he caught the faint scent of something floral in the air. He drew his blaster pistol.

He scanned the galley and didn’t see anything out of place, then glanced into the office, which he found in the same impeccable state he had left it in.

When he walked into his bedroom, he pulled up short, lowering his weapon.

In the middle of his bed was the young woman from the market, wearing nothing but a thin lace robe that left little to the imagination. She looked up at him coyly, shrugging the robe further down her shoulders, exposing more of her shapely figure.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice shaking with fury. “How dare you enter my quarters unbidden—”

And suddenly the girl was in tears, recoiling from his anger as if he had struck her. She looked even younger now that she was closer to him—she couldn’t have been older than twenty.

 _The Empress_ , he thought. She was trying to mollify him—but to what end? To ensure that he would remain here, in her service? Did she truly think his Eleanora could be replaced with this girl?

“M’lord, I’m sorry, but the Empress—she said—” the girl said around her tears, her fear palpable, “she told me to come here.”

“There’s no need to—to carry on,” Quinn said, trying to speak more gently but his anger was nearly choking him. “I’m sorry I raised my voice. But you are not needed here. Please—get dressed and go.”

The girl’s face fell, her large grey eyes closing for a moment. Then she opened her robe and Quinn looked away, feeling his face burn.

“You don’t want me, m’lord? The—the Empress said you _liked_ girls like me—”

“Please,” he said hurriedly, “ _please_ get dressed. And I’m not a lord, you needn’t call me that. Please come out into the apartment when you’re dressed.”

And he turned on his heel, walking into the living area and shutting the door behind him. He ran a hand over his face, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t believe the Empress would do such a thing, after he expressly said no. But she had—and she would be surprised that he sent the girl away in tears.

After a few minutes, the girl cautiously opened the door and stepped into the common area, bracing herself for his anger.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, gesturing to an empty chair and sitting down in the opposite one.

“Adra, m’lor—” she pulled up short, not knowing what to call him.

“You can call me Major Quinn, Adra,” he said. “How old are you, Adra?”

“Twenty-three,” she said with a hint of defiance, lifting her chin a little.

He raised one eyebrow, and she deflated.

“Seventeen,” she said, crossing her arms.

Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose and looked down for a moment, his brow tightly furrowed. _Stars_ , he thought. Did Acina even ask her? Would she have cared if she knew? He took a deep breath and lifted his head again, meeting the girl’s eyes.

“You said the Empress sent you,” he said, keeping his voice even and calm. “What else did she tell you? Please tell me exactly what she said.”

Adra’s eyes widened with fear, and her hands clenched in the fabric of her blue cloak.

“It’s alright,” he said more gently, “you won’t get in trouble, I promise.”

“She—she told me that if I came here and—-made you happy, that—that she’d take me onto her staff in the palace and I’d be paid a wage—a real wage,” the girl stuttered out. “But you don’t want me,” she continued, her voice flat. “I’m too fat, aren’t I? My sister always said so—”

“Adra,” Quinn said, resisting the strong urge to pinch the bridge of his nose again, “you’re a pretty girl. But you are a _girl_ and I am old enough to be your father.”

“That doesn’t stop his lordship,” Adra muttered, glaring at him. Quinn’s stomach turned— _this_ was exactly why Force-blind people were so wary of the Sith. Other than a select few Grand Moffs and Ministers, everyone was at their mercy.

“And,” he continued, “the woman I love is half a galaxy away.” He struggled to get the words out—to admit such a private thing to a stranger. But it appeared that he had finally pacified her anger, because she slumped back in her chair, the defiance leaving her face.

“Fine,” she said, standing up and gathering her cloak around her. “I’ll leave. Thanks for nothing, Major.”

His brow furrowed in confusion—why was she so angry with him for behaving like a decent, civilized person? And then the truth struck him—what was decent about sending her back to Eldrin? To a repulsive, cruel Sith who had no qualms about abusing this young woman?

“Adra, wait,” he said, his mind rapidly formulating a plan, “wait.”

She pulled up short and turned to him, her expression unreadable.

“Stay for a few more minutes,” he said. He approached her and reached out, mussing her neatly coiffed blonde hair as she gave him a quizzical look. He walked into the galley and grabbed a somewhat overripe plum from the counter and peeled off his glove, puncturing the fruit’s soft skin with his thumb. He touched her neck with a finger, leaving a faint reddish-purple stain on the side of her throat.

“What are you doing?” she said, but when she glanced in the mirror on the common room wall, realization dawned in her eyes.

“Tell the Empress I—that I was very pleased with you,” he said, trying not to blush and undoubtedly failing. “And that I would like to see you again next week.”

Adra’s eyes narrowed, her round face drawing tight with suspicion.

“You will get your job in the palace,” he said, trying to soothe her. _And I will have the Empress thinking that she has successfully mollified me._ He didn’t know what Acina’s game was—whether her goal was as simple as trying to keep him here and content, or something more. But he needed every advantage he could get. He hoped the girl could be convincing enough.

“And what will we do when I come visit you?” she said, her arms crossed and her expression shrewd. She was wondering what else he might want of her.

“We’ll eat dinner,” he said, “and you can tell me anything interesting you overhear in the palace. That’s all.”

Adra blinked.

“I can do that,” she said, her posture softening a little. She raised her hand to her mouth and rubbed back and forth across her lips roughly, and when she lowered her fingers, her lips were reddened and beginning to swell.

She was clever—perhaps she’d be able to sell the story after all.

“Thanks, Major,” she said, slipping out the door.

Quinn walked into his office and sat down at the computer console. He ran one hand through his hair and exhaled—what a day. He was sure he had done the right thing—and all it would cost him was his dignity, at least in regards to the Empress. He was grateful to her for freeing him from prison, and for his promotion—not to mention his prestigious position as her side. But he was deeply disquieted by everything that had happened, and by Acina’s words.

 _She’s right,_ the voice in his head told him. _What makes you think Eleanora will want you after all this time?_

He caught sight of his reflection in the console screen as it sat dark. His hair was going grey and his cheeks were still more hollow than they ought to be, despite his effort to take in enough calories to regain weight. The deep circles under his eyes and crow’s feet were not doing him any favors either. He looked older than his forty-five years.

Nora would still want him, he told himself. Of course she would—she loved him.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora slid down off the exam table and began pulling her pants back on. She frowned as she struggled to close the clasp—she didn’t think she had begun to show that much. Vette handed her the belt and lightsaber she had been holding.

The doctor turned away from the readouts and gave her a small smile.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to begin sizing up soon,” she said. “But your baby is healthy. No lingering effects of the carbonite freezing that I can detect. All I can say is that Zakuulian tech must be a damn sight better than Imperial—I’ve never seen anyone survive in carbonite longer than a year.”

Eleanora breathed a sigh of intense relief—she had been worried about potential problems since the day Lana told her she was pregnant, and a qualified doctor had finally arrived with the latest caravan of Imperial defectors. Vette squeezed her shoulder and grinned, and Eleanora smiled back at her.

“You’re around 12 weeks along, give or take a week or two, as far as I can tell.”

“Your next scan should be in 2 weeks,” the doctor continued. “Especially considering the unique genetic composition of the baby. I’ll have my scanner display fully set up by then, too—you’ll be able to see the hologram of the baby. Find out the sex, if you want.”

Nora frowned, her hand sliding instinctively over her belly. Malavai should be here to find out with her. He had already missed so much—she could wait, no matter how curious she was.

“No thank you,” she said. “I don’t want to know yet. I’ll be back for the scan.”

She and Vette walked back through the camp at Odessen, surveying the sizable resistance they had built over the past few months.

“I told you robbing the treasury would be worth it,” Vette said, looking a bit smug as Eleanora admired the new Zakuulian fighter ships that were lined up along the landing pad.

“You were right,” Eleanora said, crossing her arms and watching as the workers—an even mix of former Imperial and Republic mechanics—made the ships ready for battle. Every resource they acquired, every victory they struck against Arcann felt like one small step closer to going home.

“Commander,” Lana’s voice rang through the comm. “There’s someone at headquarters who arrived earlier and asked to see you. I would have called earlier but I knew you were at your appointment.”

Eleanora hurried to Lana’s location—she knew it couldn’t be Quinn, Lana would have told her—so who was it? When she and Vette arrived back at the command center, a large, hulking figure turned to face her.

“Heya, boss,” Pierce rumbled. “Been a long time.”

“Pierce!” Vette crowed. “I thought they had you pushing papers on Taris.”

“They did,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Made me a Major, then put me on desk duty. I left. Fuck’em. That’s a job for a bootlicker like Quinn—not a real soldier. Heard a rumor something big was going down out here—that Lana Beniko was calling in favors and reinforcements. Figured I’d have a better chance of seeing action out here—and it looks like I was right.”

Eleanora raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s good to see you in one piece and I’d be happy to have you,” she said, “but I’m in no mood for you to dredge up old resentments. If you’re going to stay here and help us win this fight, keep your years-old pissing contest to yourself.”

“You got it, boss,” Pierce said. “Just point me at your enemies and I’ll take it from there. _Damn_ is it good to be back in the field. And I saw Jaesa on my way in—got the whole crew back together now.”

“Almost,” he amended grudgingly when he saw the look she gave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading and commenting, I really appreciate it.
> 
> And I can assure you that while Nora has a little more ways to go before she's back in Imperial space, it will not take until Iokath for them to see each other. <3


	33. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and Fiona have a discussion over dinner. Eleanora prepares for a confrontation with Arcann.

Malavai took another sip of his whiskey and watched as his sister pushed around her salad on her plate, frowning down at an olive as if it had personally offended her.

“Fiona,” he said, “have you heard anything about these rumors of this alliance forming in Wild Space? The Empress has been quite preoccupied about it—apparently there have been several large-scale defections from Taris and Corellia.”

Fiona fixed her clear grey eyes on him, setting down her fork and grabbing her glass of wine.

“I have, but everything solid that I’ve learned has been conveyed to the Empress. I don’t have any new information. But she is right to be troubled—our contacts in the Republic are reporting similar mass defections,” Fiona said, taking a sip from her glass. “But there may be one silver lining—this ‘alliance’ has certainly drawn the attention of the Eternal Empire. There are far fewer Zakuulian heralds in Imperial space. I’m sure you’ve noticed that at the palace.”

“Yes,” Malavai agreed, “we are taking full advantage of the lack of Zakuulian oversight.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Quinn found himself glancing around Fiona’s apartment once more, taking in the minimal decorations and the view of Kaas City’s garden district.

“So, Malavai,” his sister said, her eyes narrowing, “are you going to tell me about the girl who sneaks into your quarters every Friday evening? I know your Sith is young, but seventeen is a bit much, is it not?”

Malavai choked on his whiskey, sputtering and feeling his face and ears burn.

“ _Fiona_ ,” he said, utterly mortified, “you can’t _possibly_ think that I would—”

“Of course not,” she said, the corner of her lip twisting upwards, “my opinion of you is not quite that low. But I am curious as to what happened. My eyes in the palace tell me who comes and goes, but not why.”

Malavai shook his head, rubbing a hand across his face to try to calm himself. He had been so careful, so discreet about Adra—as far as he knew, only the Empress was aware that the girl visited him, and he had wanted to keep it that way.

“I saw her in the marketplace—and for a brief moment, I thought she was Nor—my lord,” he said. “The Empress noticed. She—she made a crude suggestion about the girl, and I objected, but when I arrived back in my quarters that night, Adra was in my bed,” he said, flushing with embarrassment.

Fiona listened in silence, her arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“I tried to send her away, but she became upset—apparently the Empress had promised her that if she...accomplished her task, she would be given gainful employment in the palace,” Malavai continued, feeling anger pooling in his chest. “She was holding freedom over the girl’s head—and the girl—Adra—” he took a deep breath through his nose, “suffice it to say, the Sith who owned her had no qualms about her age or lack of agency.”

Fiona’s face had grown very pale, her eyes flashing—Malavai knew that look. She was furious.

“So I made a deal with Adra. She told the Empress what she wanted to hear, and got her freedom,” he said, glancing out the window again.

“And what did you gain from this deal?” Fiona said, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Apart from blackening your name further.”

Quinn glowered at his sister—but she was right. He was trying to keep it quiet, but he didn’t know how long that would work. And what would Nora think if she heard? Surely she would give him the benefit of the doubt—he knew she would never have let Adra go back to Lord Eldrin.

“I must admit that I am beginning to suspect the Empress’ motives in regards to keeping me here,” he said, feeling a little fear creep into him, recalling Acina’s threat the day she freed him. Phantom pain shot through his hand as he was momentarily transported back to prison, back into the room with the white door—but he gripped the edges of the table and grounded himself, breathing deeply. He knew Fiona’s apartment was one of the only safe places to speak frankly. “After Baras—after realizing how he planned everything—anticipated my reactions to everything he did—”

Malavai took another deep breath, trying to calm the racing of his heart. Fiona was mercifully silent, waiting for him to gather himself.

“He kept me on Balmorra for a decade—kept me stewing in misery and boredom. When he finally assigned me to my lord’s crew, I was so grateful to him, so eager to please—just as he expected I would be,” Quinn said, his voice souring at how gullible he had been. “Too grateful to see that he had ulterior motives,” he said. “And I’ve begun to notice...parallels...here.”

Fiona was watching him, her grey eyes hard—but when he met her gaze, they softened almost imperceptibly. Surprise jolted through him—was this really his sister?

“She did take an inordinately long time to free you after Helena and I presented the idea to her,” Fiona said slowly, uncrossing her arms. “And speaking of Helena—the Empress assigned her to some menial task on Belsavis. She wasn’t happy about it. And I’ve wondered why Empress Acina would send away one of the last experienced members of Intelligence at such a crucial time.”

Quinn furrowed his brow, looking at Fiona with concern.

“But the children—”

“Back on Alderaan with their father,” Fiona said, “the Kiliks finally ended their treaty with the Empire. I can’t say I am surprised after how they were used as cannon fodder in the initial fight against the Eternal Empire.”

Relief flooded him—at least Vector was with them, and home from the war. He felt a need to watch over every member of Eleanora’s family in her absence. He couldn’t imagine how worried she was—and what had kept her from coming home. And what was keeping her now.

He tore his thoughts away from his lord and back to the conversation at hand.

“So back to your deal with the girl,” Fiona said. “You want the Empress to think that you’ve moved on from your Sith lord—to think that you are grateful for the ‘gift’ she gave you. To what end?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, running a hand over his hair. “I just have a bad feeling, I suppose. And I felt that it might be advantageous for her to continue to think I am a different sort of man than I am—that she can manipulate me in this way where I can clearly see what she is doing. Had I sent Adra away, Acina might have moved on to another tactic—one less obvious.”

Fiona regarded him silently for a moment, then tilted her head slightly.

“I’m impressed, Malavai. Perhaps I don’t give you enough credit.”

He glowered at her and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

“And you did the right by the girl,” she continued. “Think of how many times she has been failed in her short life—by people who either took advantage of her or by people who looked away when they saw it happen.”

“You didn’t look away,” Fiona said, watching him. “You’re a good man, little brother.”

Malavai was stunned.

He couldn’t remember the last time his sister had said a kind word about anyone—let alone him. He found himself once again wondering—was this person his sister?

“Fiona,” he said, his voice more unsteady than he expected it to be, “I don’t—you’re—you seem—”

She arched an eyebrow.

“I say one positive thing about you and you lose the ability to speak Basic?”

Quinn let out a huff of amusement.

“You seem different,” he finally said. “I didn’t really notice it at first, I was too…” he made a vague gesture, unsure how to express what he meant—how to describe the utter numbness that had plagued him since his release from prison. “But now I see it. You don’t even lecture me about Eleanora anymore.”

Fiona glared at him, indignation written on her face—but then she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. A bit of color came into her cheeks, and she frowned, lowering her eyes.

“I—I met someone,” she muttered.

Quinn’s mouth fell open. Fiona hadn’t dated anyone in years—over a decade, in fact—not since Sarah. Selena? He couldn’t remember her name. Fiona had never told him what happened between them—and he felt shame when he realized he had never bothered to ask.

“Who?” was the only question he could articulate.

“A Sith lord,” Fiona said, a hint of defiance in her voice. “Darth Imperius.”

A thousand thoughts whirled through his head—one of the few remaining members of the Dark Council was romantically involved with his _sister_? He had seen the Miralian woman speaking with Empress Acina and Vowrawn—if his sister was a perpetual thundercloud, Darth Imperius was a cheerful ray of sunshine in comparison. To think of them together? He very nearly smiled, but then another thought struck him. What about how mercilessly Fiona had lectured him before his arrest about how the Sith were only out for themselves, how they could never truly care about Force-blind thralls like them? He opened his mouth to point out her hypocrisy, but then he saw the look on her face—the defiance, mixed with just a hint of uncertainty.

“How long have you been seeing her?” he asked instead, and Fiona’s eyebrows shot up—and he swore he saw the hint of a smile on her face, but then it was gone.

“A year and a half,” Fiona said.

“So you’re...serious about her?” Malavai said, leaning back in his seat. He had innumerable questions.

Malavai,” Fiona said, flushing a little, “let’s move on.”

Quinn smirked at her—she was finally the one who was flustered and red-faced.

“Very well,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey.

“There’s a reason I asked you over for dinner,” she said, clearly eager for a change of subject.

“Other than the pleasure of my company?” Malavai said with another small smirk.

Fiona rolled her eyes at him. 

“Charming, Malavai. You’ll recall that I said everything _solid_ has been conveyed to the Empress?”

Quinn sat up straighter, the smirk dropping from his features. He nodded.

“I’ve heard rumors… _rumors_ of rumors, really—that Lana Beniko is involved with this alliance.”

Malavai went very still. If that’s where Lana was—then that was where his lord was. And then the pieces fell into place—who other than his lord could bring together elements of two warring factions? She had been at the helm of the coalition against Revan and Vitiate. She was there—he knew it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Fiona said, “and I agree. Your Sith is most likely there. But Malavai—you know you can’t go.”

His hands were gripping the edge of the table and he had already begun to rise without thinking—where exactly did he think he would go? He didn’t have a location other than the general vicinity of Wild Space—and he was forbidden to leave. Quinn sat back down, his fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora grunted with effort as she strengthened her barrier against Lana and Senya’s unrelenting assault—and then breathed a sigh of relief when Jaesa leaned in. Her former apprentice’s power flowed into Nora’s and strengthened the failing barrier, reinforcing it and building upon it. After a few more seconds, Lana lowered her hands and the torrent of purple lightning ceased, and Senya lowered the boulder she had been pushing against them.

“Good,” Senya said, “that was much better. It felt like a solid wall rather than a moth-eaten piece of cloth.”

Eleanora grinned at the older woman as she wiped sweat from her forehead. “It’s just hard to learn a new technique _and_ a new person to do it with,” she panted. “I’ve always been good with a barrier, but I’m not used to being entirely on defense.”

“And I haven’t fought beside any Force user other than Lana for years,” Jaesa breathed, her face flushed pink with exertion.

“And whose idea was it to do this during the afternoon?” Vette groaned. “This planet is way too hot!”

Lana shot the Twi’lek a look.

“Vette, you’re not even doing anything,” she said, looking a bit winded herself. Only Senya seemed unaffected, standing in the sunlight in her full set of armor.

“Yes I am, I’m watching you guys and it’s making me sooo tired,” Vette said, flopping in the grass under the shade of a nearby tree.

“We’re doing this for all of those reasons,” Senya said, firmly cutting back to the topic at hand. “If we are going to stand a chance against my son and daughter, we will need to be united—and we need to work out any kinks or problems now.”

“And if something as simple as heat stops or distracts us, we’re going to have a very hard time,” she said, smiling at Vette.

Nora leaned forward, bracing her hands on her thighs, continuing to breathe hard. Senya walked over and handed her a bottle of water, which she opened and drank gratefully.

“Let’s take a break for now,” Lana said, “I’m pleased with our progress.”

Senya nodded. “We’ll start again in an hour.”

The Zakuulian woman walked a few yards away and began to go through lightsaber stances. Her movements were fluid, graceful—it almost looked as if she were dancing. Eleanora had always admired the more disciplined styles of lightsaber combat, but it just wasn’t suited to her personal strengths.

“She’s a machine,” Vette said, shaking her head and passing around more water as the rest of them joined her in the shade.

“It’s good to be fighting by your side again, Nora,” Jaesa said, “even if it’s taking us a few tries to get it right. Your style is so different from Lana’s—and so is your presence in the Force.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lana said, arching a pale eyebrow—and Eleanora couldn’t quite tell if she was joking or not.

But Jaesa just smiled at Lana, who let out a soft huff.

“Nora,” Lana said, turning to her, “do you have any idea what it is like to be married to someone who can read your true feelings? I can’t even start proper fights with her, she either snuffs them out in the cradle or cuts straight to the heart of the problem. It’s maddening.”

Jaesa laughed softly and Nora smiled—they truly did make a good pair.

Vette sat up, glancing down the path back to their base camp. She squinted.

“Who is it?” Eleanora asked, the bright sunlight making it difficult to see.

“I think it’s the Aristocra,” Vette said. “Yup,” she said a few seconds later.

Eleanora climbed to her feet, her thighs protesting as she rose. She straightened her training clothes—she always felt slightly self-conscious around Aristocra Saganu, though he had never been anything but pleasant and polite to her. It could have been her usual discomfort around other Chiss—she couldn’t speak Cheunh and she had an Imperial name. She suspected, however, that it was how he and Vowrawn had caught her in the elevator with Quinn the night of Vowrawn’s party. The memory of that evening gripped her suddenly—the way she had teased Malavai all night until he fell upon her, wild and unrestrained in his passion. She felt a thrill of arousal as she remembered, but pushed the thought away for later.

“Aristocra,” she said, “what brings you out here?”

“News, Commander,” he said, dipping his head in deference. “I know I could have called, but I wanted to stretch my legs.” He glanced over at Senya, who finished her set of forms before making her way over to them.

“I have just gotten off the comm with one of my contacts in the capital. Arcann is furious after the success of your attack on Darvannis, but as far as we can tell, he is still searching for your base of operations,” Saganu said.

Eleanora nodded—they still had time to prepare, time for any further reinforcements to reach them. She knew a confrontation with Arcann was inevitable—in fact, it was necessary. Defeating him and his sister meant she could go home. She had sent messages for Malavai and her family with both of the supply ships that had gone back to Imperial space for the few items unavailable in Zakuul, but no responses had arrived yet. Her hand slid down over her belly.

“But Commander,” Saganu said, “Arcann will no longer underestimate you. He stayed his hand at Darvannis because he was sure you would fail—that will no longer be the case. He has ordered his flagship to be readied. You can expect him to engage personally in the next conflict.”

“Good,” Eleanora said. “We’re nearly ready.”

  


* * *

  


_One Week Later_

Eleanora smiled as she awoke. She had dreamed of Malavai—dreamed of the warmth of his hands, the softness of his mouth, the affection that shone in his dark blue eyes. The way those eyes would grow darker when she kissed him—the soft gasps and quiet moans her touch could drag from him. She rubbed her thighs together, the friction sending a small spark of pleasure to her core—she was already wet.

She rolled over, reaching out for Malavai—she wanted to pull him to her, feel the prickle of his jaw as he kissed down her neck—

Her hand came down on cool, untouched blankets, and tears suddenly filled her eyes, escaping out of the corners before she could even open them. She didn’t need to look—she knew he wasn’t there.

She didn’t know why she was crying—she had woken up alone every day in the four months since she had emerged from carbonite. Today was no different. She dug her heels into her eyes, rubbing away the tears and the sleep.

Her hand moved down to her belly. She was beginning to show now—she had finally had to retire her red outfit, and she felt a certain melancholy packing it away. Though the top had grown increasingly uncomfortable as her body changed—she had to get a larger bra as well. And she wanted Malavai with her while all this was happening.

What if she was stuck here for months and months? What if she couldn't go home and she had to give birth without him? She didn’t know if she could make it without his presence—she needed him.

What if he didn’t even want a baby? Was that why he hadn't answered her messages?

Eleanora pushed aside her fears before they could pull her down into despair. Malavai was waiting for her--she would see him again. And he would want her, want their baby. She knew it. She would hold him again, feel his familiar weight draped across her.

She found herself wanting him even more than usual lately—she supposed it was the hormones. Nora imagined him underneath her, his hands gripping her as she leaned over him, his mouth catching her nipple—she slipped a hand between her legs.

A deafening sound blared from the speakers on the comm unit and she sat bolt upright, her heart leaping in her chest and racing.

It was the general alarm.

Eleanora scrambled to her feet and hurriedly pulled her clothes on as Lana’s figure rose from the comm.

“Commander,” she said, “it’s Arcann—he’s coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading everyone! <3
> 
> And big thanks to Tishina for her advice and support, and for reading this chapter for me! And of course, for letting me borrow her delightful Sith Inquisitor/Darth Imperius, Zastelar.
> 
> Zastelar and Fiona featured in our collaboration [The Invitation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806111) and Zas is from Tishina's excellent Quinn/f!Sith Warrior fic [Dance in the Shadow of Honor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10752810/chapters/23841861).


	34. Upward Over the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora and company confront Arcann. Senya makes a request. Quinn slips back into an old habit.

“Aristocra, what’s your status?” Nora said into her comm as Lana blasted a Zakuulian knight through a nearby doorway.

“We’re holding our own, my lord,” the man’s rich voice answered. “My commandos are maintaining the perimeter around the base camp. Agent Shan and Major Pierce are holding the front lines. The Fleet seems to be focusing primarily on the flagship.”

“Good,” Nora said. Arcann knew they had boarded his flagship, and she was his primary target—but the Fleet wouldn’t fire just yet.

“It’s like we expected,” Lana said, drawing her lightsaber as more knights rounded the corner and advanced down the corridor. “He’s luring us to the bridge—hoping that we spend our strength on the way. And he’ll head for the escape pods at the first chance—and then all the Fleet needs to do is fire.”

“His flagship is a small price to pay for a victory,” Senya agreed, her blade crashing noisily against a knight’s electrostaff. She grunted as she raised a booted foot and kicked the man in the chest, and he staggered backwards, falling noisily to the floor.

“Well,” Nora said, raising a barrier to block the torrent of blaster fire that signaled the arrival of more troops, “we’ll just have to make sure he can’t reach the escape pods.”

Senya pulled her lightsaber out of the chassis of a droid and turned to her next target—and then she stiffened, holding still as if she were listening. Nora frowned, strengthening the barrier.

“Senya?”

The older woman shook her head, her brow furrowing—and then she fixed her pale eyes on Nora.

“It’s Vaylin—she’s watching us. She knows what we’re doing—but says that if I face her, she won’t tell her brother. I need to go to her,” Senya said, her voice low.

“That wasn’t the plan,” Jaesa said, cutting down a droid and throwing it down the hallway, where it bowled over a pair of knights that had just trotted in. “We prepared together—if you go off on your own, we’re going to be imbalanced.”

“If I don’t go,” Senya said, “Vaylin will tell Arcann what our plan _is_ , and then we won’t be able to execute it at all. I’m going. It’s the only choice.” She looked at Nora.

Eleanora thought for a moment, considering—and then nodded. Senya closed her eyes and lowered her head, then walked by, her jaw set. Eleanora’s heart clenched in sympathy—she could feel the pain and sorrow radiating out of Senya. Nora reached out and caught her arm, and Senya paused—and Nora grabbed her hand and squeezed it.  
“I’m sorry,” Nora murmured.

Senya’s face, so carefully schooled into a blank expression, crumpled for just a moment—her brow furrowed and her eyes closed tightly. She lowered her head, then raised it, her face set and eyes clear.

“I’ll meet you on the bridge when I can,” she said, releasing Nora’s hand and stalking out the door.

  


* * *

  


Arcann was waiting, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the battle on the other side of the viewscreen. Nora glared at his back—his shoulders were slouched, his feet too close together, but she couldn’t help thinking of Malavai standing at parade rest. And this man stood between her and her path back to him.

“Remember, hang back,” Jaesa said in an undertone—her former apprentice must have sensed her anger. Nora took a deep breath, calming herself. Jaesa was right—they practiced this. She couldn’t risk close combat—not in her current state.

Valkorion’s son turned around slowly, and even from across the bridge Nora could see the orange glow of his one visible eye as it settled on her.

“Outlander,” he said. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since your escape. A stinging insect—too insignificant to do any real damage, but the buzzing has certainly grown...irritating.” He took a few leisurely steps in their direction, and Lana raised her blade as Jaesa began to build a barrier.

“This is quite a bit of effort to swat a fly,” Nora said, crossing her arms, unable to stop the corner of her lip fromcurling upward as she saw Arcann bristle. She rarely taunted her opponents—but this man had made her life hell for months, and what he had taken from her couldn’t be replaced.

“You’re right, Outlander,” he conceded, “I am not giving you the credit you deserve. You’ve undermined my authority, robbed my treasury—made me look like a fool.”

He was within striking distance now—or would be, if she was going to use her usual tactics. But she hung back, and Lana and Jaesa stepped forward. Lana’s red blade and Jaesa’s blue came up on either side of her as Nora planted her feet, taking hold of the barrier Jaesa had started and weaving her own strength into it. 

“You will answer for all of it, Outlander,” Arcann rumbled. “Your friends cannot protect you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lana said, and when Arcann took another step she sent a blast of lightning towards him.

And then Arcann fell upon them. Nora gritted her teeth, keeping the barrier up as Lana and Jaesa attacked the man from both sides. It was killing her to hang back—and she was strongly tempted to join in—perhaps with their combined strength they could overwhelm him—

And then Arcann struck Lana and she fell back inside the barrier, catching herself on one knee. Jaesa parried his next blow and _pushed_ the man, but he brushed it off as if nothing had happened. Lana and Jaesa rallied, but Arcann was wearing them down—Nora could see it. Feel it.

She needed to get his attention—to try to distract him.

“You believe that you’re truly your father’s son, don’t you?” she called, pouring more of her strength into the barrier, trying to protect Lana, who he was focused on.

Arcann’s glowing eye swiveled to her for only a moment, then returned to Lana.

“You think that you’re like him—a cold, powerful and eternal Emperor, utterly without mercy,” she said. “But I think you’re more like your mother—”

Lana grunted in pain as Arcann’s measured blows suddenly became savage, and with a gesture he tossed her aside, knocking her directly into Jaesa. The two Sith were on the ground, Lana stirring slowly and Jaesa scrambling to be sure she was alright. Anger surged in Nora and she channeled it, drew on it as Arcann advanced on the two women. Fear simmered underneath it, propelling her rage upwards—she was hyperaware of the baby inside her who needed her protection. But if Arcann took her companions out, she would never defeat him alone.

She had no choice.

“You hesitated,” she called to him, and he pulled up short, turning to her. “On Asylum—you _hesitated_ when you realized you were about to kill a pregnant woman. Tell me, would your father have done the same?”

Arcann cried out in fury as he charged at her, his blows wild and uncontrolled as they bounced off her barrier. It appeared that she had struck a nerve. Fear and excitement warred in her as her shield weakened—he would be through it in a few moments. She ignited her blade, the purple saber casting a faint glow on Arcann’s white clothing.

“I will end you, and the whelp in your belly,” Arcann growled, and Nora allowed the threat to fan the flames of her anger—and when he drew back, winding up for a blow to break her barrier, she moved.

Eleanora dropped her barrier just as Arcann’s lightsaber came crashing down, and he stumbled forward at the lack of resistance. She swung her blade upward and caught him in the chest—a ragged scream broke from his lips as the blade sank into his flesh. But he reeled backwards before the blade could cut too deeply, and in a moment he was a few paces away, a hideous burn mark marring his pristine clothes.

Eleanora had only a moment before he was back on her again, but purple lightning flew at him from where Lana crouched and he was forced to raise his blade to deflect it. Jaesa groaned as she blocked the reflected bolts, and cried out as one struck her arm. Nora swung her blade at him, but with a gesture he turned it aside, and he backhanded her across the face. Pain exploded across her jaw and she took a step backwards, shaking her head and spitting out blood.

Arcann raised his blade, looming over Eleanora—but once more he hesitated, just for an instant.

And Nora let go.

She leapt at Arcann, swinging her lightsaber like a bludgeon as her anger swept over her, filling her with fire. With every blow she unleashed her wrath—every grievance against him welled up and overflowed. His deception in the throne room about killing his father, the thousands of innocents he and his sister had slain, the years with her family and loved ones that he had stolen. The thought of Malavai, rotting in Imperial prison, thinking her dead—Eleanora growled as she shoved him back and he gave ground. She should be with Malavai, their baby should have be here, should have been _almost three years old_ — 

Arcann staggered backwards at the savagery of her attacks, and then Nora _threw_ him across the room, releasing a torrent of lightning that was such a dark purple that it was nearly black. Her hands smoked and burned—she never used lightning—but she fed her power with the pain, speeding the flight of her target. When Arcann’s body impacted on the wall, he slid down to the floor and didn’t move for a long moment. But then he moved his hand, was grabbing something from his pocket—

“We need to go,” Lana groaned as Jaesa helped her to her feet.

And then the ship rumbled with impact after impact as the Fleet began to fire on the flagship.

“Vette,” Jaesa said into her comm, “Arcann is down, what’s your status?”

“I’ve secured a shuttle,” Vette said, “I’m in the forward bay—it’s just a few minutes from you. This ship is going down fast, guys, you better get your asses over here. Have you heard from Senya?”

“No,” Lana said, frowning, “we haven’t. Not from Senya or Vaylin.”

“Let’s move,” Jaesa said. “Nora—Nora?”

Eleanora stood rigidly, her hands clenched at her sides—she could feel live sparks jumping inside her fists. Her chest was heaving, her heart racing—she was still so furious, she wouldn’t be able to rest until the man was dead. She took a step towards where he lay smoking on the ground, and then Jaesa’s hand closed over her wrist.

“Nora,” Jaesa murmured, “stop. This isn’t you. Let it go. We need to leave.”

Her blood was pounding in her veins, and she was trembling with rage—and then she felt an odd flutter in her belly, and it was as if someone had thrown ice water over her. Eleanora deflated, sagging backwards, and laid her burned hand over her belly as tears prickled her eyes. The baby had moved—the _baby_ —

“Come on,” Jaesa said, more urgently—and then the ceiling of the bridge began to collapse. Eleanora looked over her shoulder at Arcann one more time as they ducked out of the door—he hadn’t moved from where he had fallen.

  


* * *

  


“Senya,” Lana said into the _Gravestone’s_ comm for the third time, “come in— _Senya_. Are you there?”

Eleanora fidgeted in her seat as Jaesa applied kolto to her the burns on her hands. She was worried about Senya—the woman had been so kind and helpful to her in a way that even her own mother could never have been, not having carried a child herself. Jaesa reached up to Nora’s face and blotted more blood from her mouth—Arcann had hit her hard enough to put her teeth through her lip in several places.

“I’m here,” Senya’s voice crackled, “but I can’t join you. I—I’m on my own shuttle. Arcann is with me.”

All three women sat up in alarm, and Vette cursed loudly from the helm.

“What do you mean?” Lana demanded.

“He’s—he’s my son. There is good in him, I can feel it. I think I can save him,” she said, her voice thick. “I have to try.”

Lana fixed her yellow eyes on Nora and muted the comm. “We need to stop her,” Lana said. “Vaylin is still unaccounted for. If Arcann is allowed to escape, then all of this was for _nothing_. We will be back where we started—and you won’t be able to go home.”

Eleanora took a deep breath, her heart racing once more with adrenaline. She wanted to go home, more than anything else. But the pain in Senya’s voice, the _hope_ —

“Put her through,” Nora said.

Lana gave her a grim look, but obeyed.

“Senya,” Nora said, “if you rendezvous with us, if you let us restrain him—”

“No,” Senya answered. “I’m sorry, Eleanora—I am, but if he wakes chained, surrounded by enemies, I fear that he would never trust me. I have to do this alone.”

“Weapons are charged, Commander,” Lana said, and Nora glanced at Vette, who was awaiting her orders.

“Eleanora,” Senya said, “please. _Please_. He’s my child—and I know he can be redeemed. The bond that you are beginning to feel with your baby—it only gets stronger. Think of what you would do for that child. Can you blame me for trying everything I can?”

Eleanora’s hand had fallen to her belly once more—to the presence she had begun to cherish. The small heart she was carrying under her own. And her mind returned to the moment—no, the two moments where she had seen hesitation on Arcann’s face—where a small piece of humanity had been visible for one instant.

“Go, Senya,” Eleanora said. “But promise me that if you fail—if he cannot atone—you will end what you started. Or I will.”

Lana shot her an incredulous look, and Vette was oddly silent. Lana opened her mouth to object, but Jaesa reached out and touched her wife’s shoulder. The yellow-eyed Sith shook her head, but said nothing.

“I will,” Senya said, her voice breaking, “thank you, Nora.”

“May the Force serve you well,” Eleanora said, and she meant it. “Thank you for everything.”

“We’ll meet again,” Senya said. “Farewell.”

  


* * *

  


Quinn awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. He sat upright, tossing the blankets off, and bowed his head, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. _The guard raised the truncheon from where it had just crushed his index finger and moved it to the side every so slightly—it hovered over his middle finger. “You know what I hate about men like you, Captain?” Jones said languidly, as if he were asking about the weather. Quinn was sick with the pain, the sheer agony running up his arm. “It’s that look on your face—like you’re too good to be here. Like a snooty pretty-boy like you could never be in here with the riff raff.”_

Malavai scrambled to the edge of the bed and leaned forward, bent double as he tried not to descend into pure panic. He wasn’t in prison anymore, he was free, he wouldn’t go back, he would never do anything that could get him sent back—

_”You look down on me because I didn’t make it into the Academy—couldn’t be a fancy officer like you,” the man drawled. “But you know what, Captain? I love my job. Do you know why?”_

_Quinn shook in the chair, doing his best to maintain what composure he had. His breathing was shallow, rapid—he gritted his teeth as he looked up with defiance at the loathsome man._

_“Because I get you see the look on the faces of pricks like _you_ —”_

_And the truncheon fell again, and Quinn let out a cry as his middle finger met the same fate, the bones shattering under the merciless blow._

_“—when they realize that I’m the one with the power here,” Jones finished with a leer._

Malavai was hyperventilating, and being aware of that fact did nothing to stop the heaving of his chest. He was supposed to be over this, he did his best not to think about it—even in prison he tried not to think about it, about the room with the white door where Jones liked to hurt him. He hadn’t thought about it in weeks.

But he couldn’t avoid it in his dreams.

He clenched and unclenched his left hand—it was healed now, the surgeon at his mother’s hospital had fixed it—had removed the fragments of bone that had been shattered beyond repair. But he was still in that room in his mind, no matter how much he told himself he wasn’t. He could still feel the sting, the blinding pain of the lash as it licked across his back, leaving fire in its wake. He reached over and brushed the switch on the lamp, and it lit the room with a dim glow.

Quinn slid off the side of the bed onto the soft carpet of the floor and reached under his nightstand, dragging out a small durasteel box. He opened it and leaned back against the side of the bed, tucking his knees up to cradle the box’s contents in his lap. His hands shook as he opened the first letter and began to read it.

When he had read each one twice, he felt his racing heart begin to slow down. He leaned his head back against the bed and sighed deeply.

He felt utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading--this was a rather emotional chapter to write! And I know it's early, but inspiration struck so this chapter happened. We are getting close--thanks for hanging in there and the comments and kudos <3 <3 <3
> 
> Credit for all chapter titles in part 2 of the fic goes to Sam Beam of Iron and Wine.


	35. Homeward, These Shoes Worn to Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanora prevails at the battle for Voss. Acina extends an invitation. Quinn glimpses a long-awaited sight.

Eleanora panted as she leaned against the wall of the Shrine of Healing, and when she felt her legs grow weaker, she slowly slid down to the floor. It was over. It was finally over.

Lana walked over to the fallen figure a few yards in front of Nora and rolled her onto her back, scanning her.

“She’s still alive, Commander,” Lana said, looking up at Eleanora. “Was that intentional?”

“Yes,” Nora said, beginning to catch her breath. “Get the suppressor cuffs on her immediately before she wakes.”

Jaesa hurried forward and clamped the small woman’s wrists into the shackles, then walked over to where Nora sat.

“Are you alright, Nora?” her former apprentice asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“Yes, I’m just winded,” Eleanora said. Her hand slid protectively over her belly, but the baby’s heartbeat felt steady and strong when she reached out with the Force. Jaesa held out a hand and helped pull Nora to her feet, and the two of them walked over to Senya, who was kneeling over the prone body of her son. The four Voss crouched on either side of Arcann, their hands pressed to him.

Nora waited in silence. They had received Senya's distress call the day before, weeks after they last heard from her. Vaylin had followed her to Voss and mercilessly attacked the Shrine of Healing, wishing to eliminate the rest of her family. No one moved or spoke for a long moment, and then the eldest of the Voss mystics rose to their feet, and the others stirred, lifting their heads and opening their eyes.

“We have done all we can for him,” they said, their dim blue eyes turning to Senya, then Nora. “There is light in him, and if he chooses to follow it, he will awaken. It is his decision now. He will sleep until then.”

Nora walked closer and Senya stiffened, instinctively moving to protect her helpless son, but Nora rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder and squeezed it. Senya rose to her feet, giving Eleanora a watery smile, then walked to where her daughter lay motionless on the ground.

The Voss mystic knelt beside Vaylin and reached out to touch her face, and then recoiled as if they had been burned. The elder took a deep breath, then reached out again. After a long moment, they looked up at Senya.

“This one,” they said, shaking their head, “this one suffers greatly. Far more than her brother. There is a lingering presence in her—it is foul. Corrupting. Vile. It has been with her for years—since she was a child. But the child is still there—buried far underneath the corruption.”

“Can she be saved?” Nora asked, seeing the stricken look on Senya’s face.

“I do not know,” the Voss elder said. “It would take many years and the attention of our most skilled healers.” They regarded Nora in silence, then spoke again.

“Commander, you saved our home. Voss-Ka is battered and burned, but her people still live. The Voss owe you a great debt. If you desire it, we will keep this broken one and try to cleanse her of her torment.”

Senya looked at Eleanora, her face tense with desperate hope.

“Yes,” Eleanora said, “do it, please. But you must assure me that she will never be free until she is healed—and even then, call me before you wake her.” She could not risk either of Valkorion’s children walking free again unless she was absolutely sure.

The Voss elder bowed, and after a gesture from them, the other mystics lifted Vaylin’s slight form and carried her deeper into the shrine. Senya stroked her daughter’s face, which was pulled into a deep frown even in her unconscious state. When they had moved out of sight, Senya turned back to Nora and then pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you,” Senya said, leaning her forehead down against Nora’s. “You have given me everything—given me hope when I had utterly forgotten it.” Eleanora smiled and gripped the woman’s arms, squeezing her as a wave of strong emotion passed through her. Senya wiped tears from her face as they separated. “Your parents must be so proud to have a daughter like you.”

And then Eleanora found her own face wet, touched by Senya’s words and how keenly she missed her own parents.

“Lana,” Vette’s voice called through the comm, “Lana, come in.”

“We’re here, Vette,” Lana answered, “what’s your status?”

“We’re ok, but something really weird is happening. You know how Acina’s ships showed up just in the nick of time to help turn back the Eternal Fleet?”

“Yes,” Lana said, “is there a problem?”

“Well, nooo,” Vette said, “in fact, the battle’s kind of...over? The Eternal Fleet is just sort of...sitting there.”

Senya whirled around, fixing her pale eyes on Nora and Lana.

“Vaylin’s flagship,” Senya said, “you must take it. Now. Take it and the throne. Before someone else does and this whole cycle starts again.”

Eleanora stared at her.

She didn’t want that power or that responsibility—had never wanted it.

“Commander,” Lana said, “Senya’s right. If Acina figures out what’s happening, we could end up trading one Eternal Empress for another. And I don’t trust her—not after she ignored every message we sent to her.”

“You’re the only one I’d trust to sit in that chair,” Vette’s voice chirped from over the comm. “Better get your ass in it, Nora.”

  


* * *

  


“Commander,” the hologram of Empress Acina said, “congratulations on your victory over Zakuul. Am I to understand that the Eternal Fleet is now under your command?”

“Yes,” Eleanora said, staring down at the hologram. “Thank you for your assistance.” She was doing her best to rein in every emotion—to give nothing away to the Sith Emperor. Lana was right—Acina hadn’t lifted a finger to help them until now. She wanted something.

“Of course, Commander,” Acina said. “The Empire is glad to be free of Zakuulian rule. You accomplished in mere months what the Empire and the Republic failed to do for years. And now the strength of the Eternal Fleet is behind you.”

There was something faintly accusatory in the woman’s voice, but Eleanora couldn’t place the exact emotion.

“I wish to discuss the future of our Empires, Commander,” Acina continued, her voice becoming smooth and pleasant again. “I invite you to come visit Dromund Kaas, where I hope we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement. Perhaps even an alliance.” The hologram turned to nod respectfully to Aristocra Saganu, who stood on Eleanora’s left, and Lana, who stood on her right.

Eleanora stared at her, wondering if her offer was sincere.

“And,” Acina added, “I believe my dear Major Quinn wishes to see you again. Think on my offer, and send me your answer soon.” The transmission ended abruptly.

Eleanora’s heart leapt at the sound of his name—but there was something wrong. She could feel it, and when she turned to Lana and Jaesa their faces were drawn and serious.

“I don’t like it,” Lana said, crossing her arms. “Why do I feel like everything she said was a thinly veiled threat?”

“Jaesa?” Eleanora said, looking to her empathic former apprentice for guidance. She wanted to go—especially now that she knew Quinn was there.

“She’s too far away for me to search her intentions,” Jaesa said, “so it’s hard to say. She could be telling the truth—she might just be trying to secure the Empire’s future and make sure that they aren’t held in thrall again. Or she could have more sinister reasons for inviting you.”

“It might be a trap, or it might not be,” Lana agreed, “but either way, Dromund Kaas is the logical next step. Better to go now and find out what we are dealing with. Theron can hold down the fort at Odessen for now.”

“I concur,” Saganu said. “The Empress was not at all pleased to lose the support of the Ascendency after the fall to Zakuul. She is likely desperate for allies—but that does not mean she is without guile. The longer she has the chance to plan, the less favorable the outcome would be to us.”

Eleanora climbed down from the uncomfortable throne, and Vette took her arm and helped her down the unfamiliar steps. Ordinarily she used the Force to help her navigate—after all, she couldn’t see her feet anymore, now that she was over five months along—but she was too drained from the battle with Vaylin.

When she climbed into her bed, she found she couldn’t sleep from the excitement—she was going home. 

It almost didn’t feel real.

Acina had called Quinn ‘Major’—that meant he must be free, surely—they would hardly have promoted him in prison. She began to fantasize about what she would say to him—whether or not he would be too embarrassed if she were to simply seize him in her arms the moment she saw him and kiss him until he was breathless. She was desperate to know what he thought about the baby—about being a father.

She knew she would have her answers soon, but she was too filled with anticipation to stop thinking about it.

But there was one small piece of discomfort that, when she poked at it, wiggled like a loose tooth.

Why hadn't he answered any of her letters?

  


* * *

  


Quinn took a deep breath as he waited in the hangar of the spaceport. He had heard Vette’s voice sassing the docking officer as he cleared the shuttle for landing, and his heart was racing in anticipation. He stood off to the side of the official welcoming delegation—Minister Lorman, perpetually jealous of Quinn’s trusted status with the Empress—had insisted on it. But while the slight may have bothered him on any other occasion, today Quinn didn’t care. All he cared about was that he was finally about to see his lord.

His Eleanora.

The ramp lowered slowly, and every muscle in his body tensed. Excitement swelled in him, filling him with nervous energy—but he remained composed and still, standing at parade rest. He wondered, hardly for the first time, how the years had treated her—where she had been held or detained—whether or not she bore scars like his. He hoped not, for her sake—but he would not love her any less.

Footsteps rang slowly on the metal ramp, and then he saw a flash of dusky blue skin—saw her silver hair bobbing in familiar waves around her cheek, and he found himself holding his breath. She didn’t look a day older than when he had last seen her, though there was something different about her. His brow furrowed, and then his view was obscured by a tall man walking beside her.

The handsome Chiss offered Eleanora his hand, and his lord took it—and Quinn found himself seething when the man’s other hand rested on her shoulder as he helped her down the ramp. And then his lord turned towards the welcoming party, and Quinn felt his world come crashing down around him.

She was pregnant.

He ran his gloved hands through his hair and pulled it tightly as his chest began to heave—his heart was racing so violently that he felt choked.

No, no, no. No. There was some mistake—Nora loved him, she would wait, she was supposed to wait for him—

He was out of the hangar bay door before he could do anything foolish—before she could see him—and after what seemed like either a few minutes or a few hours, he was closing the door to his apartment in the palace. He didn’t even recall how he got home—the numbness had completely overtaken him, though the uncontrollable shaking of his arms meant some emotion was boiling underneath.

He had been so sure—she had _promised_ she would come back to him, he thought—

 _What a foolish presumption_ , the voice said, _one that you were warned against so many times. The Aristocra is younger, stronger, sound of body and mind—how can you blame her for moving on?_

No, he thought, it’s not true. She loved him—he knew it, he had _felt_ it when she touched him, when she held him—

 _Years ago_ , the voice snapped. _Did you really think that The Emperor’s Wrath would wait years to return to the arms of a worn-out, washed-up, broken man like you? Especially when the Aristocra can give her what you never could—a child._

Nausea and shock made him shiver as his stomach churned, and hot tears stung his eyes. He lurched forward, doubling over as a sob wracked his body. The years in prison—the torment he had suffered—all for nothing. For no one. He was alone, _worse_ than alone.

How could he have been such a fool?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof!
> 
> Poor Quinn.
> 
> It always bothered me that Arcann was portrayed with more nuance, but poor Vaylin was apparently evil from birth? I'm not sure that the Voss mystics can help her, but at least someone can try.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	36. Such Great Heights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora arrives on Dromund Kaas, but gets a rude welcome. Fiona and Nora have a disagreement, and Nora and Acina reach an agreement.

Eleanora stepped off the ramp, looking around eagerly—searching for one face among the small group of Imperial soldiers and officials. She was nearly trembling with excitement, and she felt the baby stir—more and more often, she had noticed the baby moving in reaction to her emotions.

She released her grip on Saganu’s arm and turned her head to scan the hangar bay.

But she didn’t recognize any of the men, save for Lorman’s unpleasant visage. She heard the others descending the ramp behind her, and saw Vette looking around as well.

Eleanora’s elation began to deflate, and her heart sank along with it. 

Where was Malavai?

He should have been here—Acina said he would be here.

Eleanora narrowed her eyes as Lorman cleared his throat, then finally accepted that she needed to greet him.

The Minister was barely bothering to disguise his sneer—she recalled his opinions on non-humans in the Empire. But far, far more offensive to her was the fact that this worm of a man was responsible for throwing Malavai in prison. She felt her fury rise, kindling in her breast—her fingers clenched into fists. But she took a deep breath and released some of her anger with it as she exhaled—why would Acina send Lorman of all people to greet her? 

“Minister Lorman,” she said, crossing her arms and staring the man down. A bit of the red color in his cheeks drained when he met her gaze. His eyes darted downward again as he withered under her scrutiny, and his hands twitched nervously. The disdainful curl of his lip persisted—or was it just the way his face looked? 

“Commander,” Lorman said, inclining his head obsequiously. It was amazing how this man could make a bow seem disrespectful and insincere—and anger and worry vied for her attention again as she compared him unfavorably to Quinn. _Quinn_. She pulled in a deep, slow breath through her nose, struggling to keep her fists from clenching. It would take such little effort to break his neck.

Lorman began, “As Minister Plenipotentiary of the Sith Empire, I respectfully welcome you to Dromund Kaas on behalf of our Empress.” Eleanora exchanged a glance with Vette, who simply raised her eyebrow. Lorman continued, “Please, let me show you to your transport. Empress Acina will formally greet you in the palace.” He began to turn away.

“We’ve arranged our own transport,” Pierce growled, crossing his arms. Lorman whirled to see who was speaking, his face reddening, but when he saw Pierce towering over him—flanked by Lana, Jaesa, and the Aristocra—his mouth snapped shut.

“I must insist—”

“I don’t like the look of you, Lorman,” Pierce interrupted, “and I don’t like the smell of you, neither. Smell like a _rat_ to me.” 

Lorman spluttered in outrage, his face nearly purple. Eleanora looked askance at Pierce, surprised that he would speak without following her lead—and Pierce jerked his head towards Jaesa, who was standing with her head bowed and palms pressed together.

“It’s _Minister_ Lorman to you, you cur. I am under _strict_ orders from the Empress,” Lorman was huffing, “this is the only transport deemed secure enough—”

“He’s lying,” Jaesa said calmly, raising her head to meet Nora’s eyes. “He sabotaged the transport’s engine.”

Eleanora smiled as grim pleasure bubbled up in her chest, where it flowed down into her hands and crackled in her clenched fists. Oh, she had been _waiting_ for this.

“Tell me, Lorman,” Eleanora said, tightening her fist and lifting him from the ground, “who wanted me dead, other than you? The Empress?”

The man was clutching futilely at his throat, his face rapidly darkening as his mouth gibbered. Eleanora allowed her anger to escape—felt the tingling heat in her fingers as lightning gathered in her palm. She gripped it, holding it in place—the dark purple bolts swirled and tangled into a loose sphere in her hand.

She walked towards the man, who began to kick even more frantically as she grew closer. She raised her hand to him and held the barely-contained lightning mere inches from his heart.

“Tell me,” she said, loosening her hold on his throat. Lorman drew in a desperate breath that croaked through his crushed throat.

“Saresh,” he hissed, “Saresh planned it—please, have _mercy_ —”

“Mercy?” Eleanora said, her voice thin. “After what you did to Quinn?”

Lorman’s face was contorted with fear, and Eleanora tightened her fist once more as he opened his mouth to beg. She was close enough to see the blood vessels begin to burst in his face and eyes.

Eleanora pushed the ball of lightning into his chest.

The man began to convulse wildly, his limbs flailing and jerking as his flesh began to smoke and charr. When Eleanora dropped her hand back to her side, he went limp and she allowed his body to drop to the floor of the hangar bay. He continued to twitch, lifeless as he was, and she stepped over him.

“Well, Pierce, what did you have in mind for alternate transportation?” Lana said mildly.

  


* * *

  


When they arrived at the palace, Acina received them in the throne room. The red Imperial banners triggered an unexpected surge of nostalgia in Eleanora—she had only been away for 6 months, but in some ways it felt like it had been years since she was back in the heart of the Empire. It wasn’t quite home—not without her loved ones—but it was close.

The Empress rose as Eleanora approached.

“Commander,” Acina said, inclining her head respectfully. Her dark grey hair shone in the bright light, and her amber eyes watched her guests with interest. Eleanora could feel the power emanating from the Empress in waves. Acina glanced at Lana and the rest of Eleanora’s entourage, but said nothing.

“Empress Acina,” Eleanora said, nodding in response.

“I'm glad you decided to come,” Acina said, a small smile lighting her face—but her eyes remained cold.

“I’m afraid Minister Lorman can’t say the same,” Eleanora answered, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure what you meant by sending him to greet me, but you’re going to have to find yourself a new Minister of Logistics.”

“Lorman?” Acina said, her brow furrowing. “I sent Major Quinn to meet you, not Lorman. What happened?”

“The Minister was planning to assassinate me, apparently on the orders of former Chancellor Saresh of the Republic. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?” Eleanora said, allowing some of her skepticism to enter her voice.

A spot of color appeared in each of Acina’s cheeks, and her expression darkened.

“Give me a little credit, Commander,” Acina said, shaking her head. “If I was planning to harm you, I assure you I would not employ an imbecile like Lorman as my secret weapon.”

Eleanora frowned—Acina spoke sensibly. And why would Acina be conspiring with Saresh? It was entirely possible that Lorman acted without her knowledge. But a more important matter was pressing on her mind.

“Major Quinn wasn’t at the hangar bay. Where is he?” Eleanora said, struggling to keep her voice calm and even.

“As I said, I sent him to greet you. Perhaps Lorman dismissed him?” Acina said. She turned to one of her attendants. “See that our guests are shown to their quarters.”

Eleanora took a step forward—she wasn’t going to let this go until she saw Malavai.

“And,” Acina said, glancing at Nora’s agitated state, “please show the Commander to the Major’s quarters.”

The attendant handed them off to a pretty young woman with blond hair who bowed and began to lead them to their quarters.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora took a deep breath in front of the door, then pushed the chime. Malavai was absent from his quarters in the palace, which had been the first place she had gone. Finally, after she let a small amount of her suppressed stress and anger surface, she had successfully frightened an aide into giving her Fiona Quinn’s address.

“I _need_ to speak to Malavai,” Eleanora said, irritation rising as the woman’s expression grew darker. She hadn’t fought her way across Wild Space and toppled not one, but _two_ tyrants to get back to Malavai just to be stopped by his sister, however forbidding her demeanor was.

“ _He_ doesn’t need to speak to you,” Chief Quinn said, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. With her grim expression and high, freckled cheekbones, Fiona looked so much like Malavai that Eleanora’s heart ached, which only fueled her desperate need to see him. “My brother is finally doing well for himself. He’s out of prison, no thanks to you, and he’s moved on with his life. He’s in a respected position at the Empress’ side. And he knows you’re here—if he wanted to see you, you’d be talking to him instead of me.”

“You don’t understand,” Eleanora said, tensing with frustration—the baby stirred in her belly, and she took a deep breath. “It’s—”

“What am I not understanding?” the woman snapped, her sharp grey eyes narrowing even further. “You toyed with my brother, wound him around your finger—made him fall hopelessly for you. He went to prison for years because of you. Do you know what they did to him in there?”

Eleanora stiffened, her fists clenching—what had happened to him? Indignation rose low in her chest, mixing with her frustration and making her heart race. The thought of him huddled in a cell, tormented and in pain and alone—her throat grew tight and her eyes stung. 

“And then you come back,” the Chief continued, “years later, like _this_ ,” she gestured to Nora’s swollen belly, “and you expect to just pick up where you left off, with him following you around like a lost akk pup?”

“It’s _his_ child,” Eleanora said as hot, angry tears streamed down her face.

Fiona’s face grew even more grim and suspicious.

“I was frozen in carbonite,” Nora continued, “we—we didn’t know, I didn’t find out until Lana rescued me.”

“Ridiculous,” the woman snapped, “do you take me for an utter fool?”

And then the door slammed in Nora’s face.

  


* * *

  


“You’ll never believe what she said,” Fiona muttered, settling into the chair opposite his.

Malavai was still for a long moment, then turned numbly to Fiona.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice flat.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora walked into the meeting room, doing her best to disguise her tension. She understood now why Malavai had avoided her—Jaesa had said she felt a stab of anguish through the Force while they disembarked, and now she knew who it had been. 

Acina sat at the head of a long table, a row of crimson-clad Imperial guards behind her. On her left sat Intelligence Chief Fiona Quinn and on her right—

On her right stood Major Malavai Quinn.

Eleanora felt her heart skip a beat, and before she even realized what she was doing she was moving towards him. His face was blank, expressionless, his eyes were distant—and she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. 

He took a step backward as she grew closer, and she pulled up short, hurt and frustration stopping her in her tracks.

“My lord,” he said, lowering his head in a bow.

“Malavai,” she said, her voice thick. “Malavai, I—”

“Forgive me, my lord,” he interrupted, looking at her feet. “Perhaps we may save our greetings for a more private conversation. I do not wish to distract from the purpose of this meeting.”

Eleanora recoiled as his rejection struck her like a blow. She gritted her teeth, trying to summon patience. She reached out with the Force, brushing his mind, and found his old mental barriers sealed more tightly than ever. How could he think the very worst of her, after all their time together? How could he think that she would have abandoned him? Had he not received even a single letter?

She felt everyone staring at her as she stood rigidly in the middle of the room. Finally, she took a deep breath and allowed herself to be shown to her seat, where Lana, Jaesa, and the Aristocra were already sitting. Chief Quinn’s face was expressionless, save for a slight furrow of her brows that Eleanora was beginning to suspect was permanent. Malavai continued to avoid her gaze, but she took him in desperately, studying every detail. He looked older, more worn—deep circles framed his eyes and his face was thinner. His hair had gone grey around his temples, and flecks of white peppered the rest of it. He had changed, but he was still beautiful—still the man she loved. She wanted nothing more than to push the others aside and climb into his lap—to kiss some sense into him.

Acina was speaking, and Eleanora tore her gaze from Quinn and gave the Empress her attention.

“Commander,” Acina was saying, “I will be frank with you. The Empire is in a very precarious state. Our resources are nearly drained. Our fleet is the smallest it has been since the turn of the century. And the conflict with the Republic rages on, burning through what little we have left.”

The Empress took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. She opened them, her burning stare fixed on Nora. 

“It is...difficult for me to admit this to anyone, let alone a former ally who has amassed the largest Fleet in the galaxy and siphoned resources and valuable personnel from me.” Acina’s eyes flicked to Lana, who returned her gaze impassively.

“But, Commander,” Acina said, “I need your help. The _Empire_ needs your help.”

Eleanora stared at the Empress, taken aback. Quinn’s face was still carefully composed, but he glanced at Eleanora for a moment before turning back to the Empress.

“I know I have nothing to offer you,” Acina said, spreading her hands in acknowledgement. “I have no resources or funds to spare, no great secrets I could trade. Not after Ziost. Not after this war. But the more I learned about your time as an apprentice and as the Wrath, the more I hoped you might answer the Empire’s plea.”

Nora caught Lana’s eye, but the fair-haired Sith simply raised an eyebrow. She was as surprised as Eleanora was. This was not one of the possible scenarios they had discussed, let alone decided a response to. She turned to Jaesa next, who hadn’t given Nora the signal that Acina was lying.

Eleanora leaned back in her chair, absently sliding her hand down to her belly as she considered the Empress’ words. Quinn was staring at her again, his brow furrowed and jaw tense as he watched her hand move. She reached out once more, using the Force to gently probe his mind, but she was rebuffed. The ache in her chest deepened—he was so close, she didn’t know how much longer she could wait. She needed to set everything straight, to tell him that she loved him more than anything, to chase every doubt from his head.

She took a deep breath, returning her attention to the Empress. If Acina had made threats, veiled or otherwise, or attempted to coerce or deceive her, she would have walked away. This was the Empire that had given her to the Sith, the Empire that enslaved and exploited the weak, the Empire that had always treated her like she was _less_ because she wasn’t human.

This was the Empire that had thrown her lover in prison for daring to search for her.

But if the Empire’s people needed her, could she turn her back?

Eleanora thought of everyone that she had met on her missions—the soldiers, the officers, the ordinary people going about their lives. She thought of her parents. Eleanora wanted the Empire to be better, and there had to be a way to do that without destroying it. Perhaps this was it. She looked at Lana and Jaesa again, then the Aristocra. Jaesa nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I agree,” Eleanora said, turning back to Empress Acina. “The Alliance will help the Empire rebuild—and I’d like to discuss a more formal partnership if you will agree on certain points. Namely, that you will not use the strength of my fleet to crush the Republic. It will work as a deterrent to Republic aggression, certainly, but I will not have more war.”

“We can work out the details, I am sure,” Acina said with a small smile. “I assure you, Commander, I have had my fill of war.”

Eleanora inclined her head, then a sharp warning echoed through the Force. In a moment, Lana and Jaesa were standing, and Eleanora raised a barrier. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the conference room—too small to be a bomb, it had to be a grenade. As grey smoke filled the room, shadows began to materialize—armored figures decloaked and began to fire.

Eleanora rose to her feet, keeping her barrier up as she drew and ignited her blade. An armored figure advanced on her, swinging a large vibroblade and she parried before felling the man with a brutal swipe. She turned to Quinn, worried, but he brought down both of the men advancing on him with well-aimed shots. Chief Quinn had drawn her own blaster and was shooting at another intruder. Purple lightning flashed through the room, incinerating three more of the men—some sort of bounty hunters, judging by the armor and tech—and Acina lowered her hands as the last one fell.

Lana and Jaesa stood back to back, lightsabers drawn, the bodies of their assailants strewn about them on the floor. Eleanora took a deep breath and released it, trying to slow the racing of her heart.

Acina nudged one of the fallen men with her boot.

“The GenoHaradan,” Acina said, her voice grim. “We had always thought that they were just a legend, but lately there have been rumors of attacks on Imperial officers and Sith lords. And here they are.”

“Saresh again, I’d wager,” Lana said, “I’ve only ever heard of them working with the Republic.”

Acina looked around at the ruin of her conference room before looking at Nora. “Thank you for your assistance, Commander,” she said. “They would have been a challenge had they caught anyone alone. We can adjourn for today, if that’s alright with you. I need to speak with my head of security.”

Eleanora nodded, her eyes seeking out Malavai, who was aiming a medical scanner at in her direction, his brow furrowed with concern. Nora stalked towards him and two attendants scurried out of her way as she advanced on her target. He looked up from the scanner and saw her, the furrow in his brows deepening—he looked as if he was going to move, but couldn’t decide which direction to go.

“My lord—”

Eleanora seized Quinn’s collar and pushed him backwards into the conference table, where he was forced to lean backward. She grabbed his jaw with one hand and buried the other in his hair, tugging and angling his head upward just before she crushed her mouth against his.

  


Malavai made a soft noise into her mouth, and his gloved hands gripped the edges of the conference table as his body stiffened in surprise. Eleanora kissed him roughly, needily, but he wasn’t responding—and then his hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. One hand came up to cradle her face, then stroked her neck, his gloved fingers trembling. Tears stung her eyes and she held in a sob—she had missed him so much. Heat swept through her when she found his tongue and brushed it with hers, and he made another low noise that sent a thrill to her core.

Finally she had to break away for air and leaned her forehead against Malavai’s as he drew in a shaky breath, his cheeks flushed scarlet. She pressed a brief, chaste kiss to his lips, and then reluctantly leaned away, aware of everyone’s eyes on them. There was so much she needed to tell him, so much she had to ask him—but there was one need that was rapidly becoming her only focus.

Eleanora clamped her hand over Malavai’s wrist and dragged him into the hallway, heading towards his quarters.

She slammed the button to close the door and turned to Malavai, pulling him into another kiss as he fumbled with his gloves. The moment his fingers were bare he threaded them into her hair as he kissed her back, his mouth moving urgently against hers. She backed him up against the bed and he scrambled on to it, loosening his belt and then undoing his pants. Eleanora tugged her leggings and underwear off and climbed onto the bed. There was no foreplay, no teasing, no slow build of lovemaking—she was desperate to have him inside her, to be as closely joined to him as she possibly could be. Before she could reach him Malavai was already on her, pulling her hips over his.

Eleanora reached down—it was difficult to maneuver around her belly, but she leaned forward and took him in her hand, guiding him inside her as she lowered her hips.

She gasped as she felt him within her—it had been so long, she gave herself a moment to adjust—and then she took him, her hips grinding his into the bed. Malavai let out a low cry, his hands gripping her waist as his eyes squinted shut. Eleanora rode him roughly, her hands on his shoulders, rocking her hips over his—every movement driven by her want and need for him. Quinn’s fingers began to dig into her flesh and he shifted the angle of his hips, burying himself deeper. Nora inhaled sharply as the angle gave her the friction she needed, and she ground herself into him every time her hips slammed down.

After just a few more movements, a few more presses of that delicious friction combined with the feeling of his swollen length inside her pushed her over the edge—Nora cried out softly, her hands gripping his uniform collar and his shoulder as she peaked. Malavai followed a moment later, groaning, and she leaned down to kiss him as he spilled himself inside her. She had to sit up after a moment—it was too much pressure on her swollen belly—and Malavai looked up at her, flushed and breathless.

“It’s your child, Malavai,” she said, grabbing his hand and settling it on her belly. He had to have realized by now, but something in his face told her he needed to hear her say it out loud.

His eyes were intense and full of emotion as he regarded her—and then his gaze fell to where their hands were entwined. She smiled down at him through her tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Tishina for her support and brainstorming help, and thanks to my husband for being my beta reader and for his support <3.
> 
> Nora and Quinn have some things to work through and a lot of things to talk about.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for commenting. I've still got a bit more up my sleeve, and I'm also continuing to add to my side fic, [Love and Some Verses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850526/chapters/65510950).
> 
> Technically, this chapter title is from an Iron and Wine cover of The Postal Service.


	37. Naked as We Came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanora and Malavai struggle to reconnect. They receive some news and Malavai comes to a realization.
> 
> Note: this chapter begins with a direct continuation of the end of Chapter 36.

“How?” Malavai whispered, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His dark blue eyes flicked back up to Eleanora’s, and she squeezed his hand.

“I was hoping you might have some ideas,” she said with a grin, wiping the tears from her eyes. “We found out a few weeks after Lana broke me out of carbonite. I—I kept getting sick, so Lana scanned me. I didn’t believe it at first.”

“You’re—you’re well now, my lord?” he asked, sitting up slightly—and Eleanora realized she was still astride him. She was reluctant to move, she didn’t want to separate even for a moment, but she could feel him beginning to slip out of her. She rolled onto her side and Malavai sat up fully, reaching to clean himself up.

“Yes,” she said, “the first few months were rough, but I haven’t been sick for some time. We’re both healthy.”

“Have you been examined by an obstetrician? When was your last scan?” Malavai asked as he finished re-fastening his belt. Worry was written on his face. “We must make an appointment,” he said, climbing off the bed and onto his feet.

“Malavai,” she said softly, rising to her knees and reaching out to grab his arm. His agitated movements stilled at her touch, but his muscles were tense under her fingers. “Yes, I’ve seen a doctor, I’m alright. We’ll make an appointment, but—right now, I just want to talk. To be with you. I’ve—I’ve missed you so much.”

Quinn’s face was drawn, but he allowed her to pull him back to her. He stood rigidly, but slipped an arm loosely around her back. Eleanora frowned slightly—this wasn’t exactly what she had expected. She thought that he would be in her arms, his face burrowed into her chest. She looked up at him, searching his eyes—looking for a hint of what he was feeling. 

“My lord,” he said, “forgive me. I never meant to doubt you. This—I—”

He looked down, breaking away from her gaze.

“It’s alright, Malavai,” Eleanora said, cupping his cheek and leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead. She didn’t understand what was happening, or why he was acting this way. But she wouldn’t let him push her away.

  


* * *

  


Malavai stood rigidly at her side as she lay on the exam table. Eleanora started to reach for his hand, and then thought better of it. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

He had insisted that she make an appointment to be examined, and a call to his mother’s hospital had gotten her in the next day. And once her vitals had been checked, they were waiting for the doctor in awkward silence.

Eleanora yawned and rubbed her face—it had not been a restful evening. After she dealt with the logistics of where to station the Alliance Fleet, she had attended several meetings before finally being able to retire to Quinn’s quarters. And even then, there was an undercurrent of stress. He had asked her to stay with him—in fact, he seemed loathe to let her out of his sight for even a moment—but he lay apart from her, his body rigid with tension that only increased when she tried to touch him.

Eventually, she had given up, keeping to her own side of the bed. He was unable to guard his emotions while he slept, however, and she could feel his fear and guilt lapping at her like a small, hungry flame that was eager for more fuel. She had cried then, but quietly, so as not to wake him. Malavai stirred and made a soft noise, almost a whimper, during what must have been a particularly upsetting dream—but when she reached out to comfort him, he flinched, waking in panic.

He had reached for her hand then, as he took deep breaths to calm himself. He fell asleep with it clenched in his fingers, her thumb gently rubbing circles on his skin. It was then that she noticed his hand was covered in scars—smooth lines over each finger and several on the back. 

Eleanora blinked as the hiss of the door brought her back to the moment. Two women entered the room, and Quinn stiffened in surprise when he saw the second, smaller one.

“Mother,” he said, “I thought you were in appointments all day.”

The woman smiled at him, and Eleanora immediately saw the resemblance—she saw Malavai’s high cheekbones and delicate nose echoed in her face. But her expression was open and amiable in a way that was utterly unlike her two prickly children.

“I rescheduled,” she said, turning her gaze to Eleanora, where it became a little cooler. “Hello, Commander. I’m Dr. Cara Quinn.” The grey-haired woman held out her hand and Nora shook it, giving her the best smile she could muster. She wanted to make a good impression, but she had heard Malavai’s holocall to her last night—and his mother’s obvious skepticism at Eleanora’s story. She wanted her own mother, but it would be several more days before their transport arrived.

“It’s good to meet you,” Nora said. Malavai shifted uneasily at her side.

“This is Dr. Naite,” Dr. Quinn said, gesturing to the taller woman who was typing a few commands into the nearby terminal. “She’s our foremost expert in obstetrics and xenobiology.”

“This will be a novel case for me,” Dr. Naite said, turning eagerly to Eleanora. “By the look of you I’d guess you were four months, considering the average Chiss gestation period, but the Major said you are six months?”

“Roughly,” Nora said, “we don’t have an exact date.”

“And…” the doctor said, frowning down at her datapad, “you said you were...frozen in carbonite? While pregnant?”

“Yes,” Nora said, feeling her cheeks color a little—she knew how ridiculous it sounded, but their suspicions carried an implication that raised her hackles. She drew herself up a little, trying to keep her stress contained. Malavai reached for her hand and threaded his fingers between hers, squeezing gently. She felt herself relax a little and returned the gesture.

“Well, let’s get the holoviewer up and get your scan started,” Dr. Naite said, wheeling a stationary scanner over and positioning it above Nora’s abdomen.

“You already know the sex?” the doctor asked as she pressed a few buttons. The scanner began to beep softly, moving slowly back and forth over her swollen belly.

“No,” Nora said, “I wanted to wait for Malavai.”

He squeezed her fingers again, and stepped a little closer as she looked up at him—a brief flash of emotion passed over his face.

The room was quiet as the scanner worked, and then suddenly the holoimage appeared over the terminal. Eleanora sat up straighter, and she heard Malavai inhale sharply. The machine on Odessen didn’t have nearly this amount of detail—she could see the baby’s nose, the little arms and clenched fists.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said, looking back and forth between the readouts and the holoimage. “Perfectly healthy, approximately 6 months, judging by the development. And,” Dr. Naite added, “the baby has what appears to be a wholly unique genetic composition.” The woman began typing excitedly into her datapad.

Quinn was gripping her hand almost painfully tight, his gaze fixed on the holoimage. Eleanora smiled up at him.

“A son,” she said softly, moving her hand over her belly, her attention returning to the holo. 

Eleanora turned to Malavai’s mother, who was watching her son’s face with a soft, warm look. Her large grey eyes shifted to Eleanora, and Dr. Quinn gave her a small smile.

  


* * *

  


  
She says, "Wake up, it's no use pretending"  
I'll keep stealing, breathing her  
Birds are leaving over autumn's ending  
One of us will die inside these arms  
Eyes wide open, naked as we came  
  
"Naked as We Came", Iron and Wine, 2005

  


Nora sighed, leaning backwards in the hot water. The ache just above her lower back felt a little better already, though her feet and legs were still sore. Bathtubs were a rare luxury—one of the benefits of being an honored ally of the Empress, she supposed. She sighed again—three more months to go, if the doctor’s estimates were correct. It had been impossible to pinpoint the exact day of conception, as Lana had once learned to her dismay, but judging by the size and development of the baby. they predicted that her pregnancy would last nine months. Average for a human, but two months longer than the typical Chiss gestation period. Whether it was due to the half-human child that lay under her heart, or her unusually slow metabolism for her species, they couldn’t know.

Eleanora was absently moving her hand over her belly, wondering once more what their baby—their son—would look like. Would his hair be dark like Malavai’s, or light like hers? Something in between? What about his eyes?

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts, and the door opened a crack.

“My lord,” Quinn said, “may I enter?”

“Of course, Malavai,” Eleanora said, frowning. “You don’t need to ask.” 

He had been distant since that first night back together—when they had made love in his quarters with quiet, desperate urgency. She knew he had suffered in her absence—during her long sleep in carbonite. In the moments where he loosened his white-knuckled grip on his composure, she could see it in the way he moved, hear it in his voice, trace it in the lines of his face. And he was still shutting her out. She could probably force her way through the barriers his emotions were locked behind, if she wanted to—and there were moments when the idea tempted her, like this one, though she wouldn’t act on it.

She needed him so much closer.

“Sorry, my lord—Eleanora,” he corrected himself. “I—I _am_ trying, I promise, it’s just that—”

“Don’t be sorry, my love,” she said softly. “It’s been much longer for you than it has for me. I—I forget, but I don’t mean to.”

She saw him swallow, his dark blue eyes fixed on hers. Nora sat up a little in the tub and his gaze dropped, lingering on her now-exposed breasts. A flush came into his cheeks and he raised his eyes to hers once more.

“I just wanted to be sure you were alright,” he said, “you—you were in here for a while, and—”

“Join me?” she said, reaching her hand in his direction and dripping a little water on the floor.

“Ah,” he said, and her heart sank when she realized he was about to say no. It had been a week since she had come back to him, and she was trying to give him time, but—

He reached up to his collar and began to undo the buttons. She smiled at him, and her emotions were so near the surface, so close to brimming over that she blinked away tears. He was indeed trying, in spite of how difficult the adjustment was for him.

Malavai removed his jacket, and then began to loosen his belt. His movements were a little hesitant, and the color on his cheeks darkened as he slid his undershirt off. He was thinner than she remembered—still muscled, but his hips and ribs were visible. In a moment he had removed the rest of his clothing, and desire stirred within her as she admired the familiar lean lines of his body. She hadn’t seen him like this in half a year, and _stars_ , she wanted him. He turned to hang his jacket and gloves on the hook behind him.

Eleanora gripped the side of the tub and sat bolt upright, her heart pounding and rage filling her. A few long scars—new to her eyes—crossed his back. Similar markings disrupted the smooth skin of his haunches and the backs of his legs. But when he turned to approach her, the raw emotion in his eyes—the vulnerability—gave her pause. She pushed her fury at those who had hurt him aside. He didn’t need her anger, however righteous it may be—it was too late for her to defend him. The thought made her heart ache.

Quinn stepped into the water and flinched, lifting his foot back out with a soft gasp of surprise.

“My lord, this water is extremely hot!”

“Sorry,” Eleanora said, “it feels perfect to me.” 

She drained a little of the water and turned the cold tap on until he was able to lower himself into the tub without wincing. He leaned back against the opposite edge, his feet stretching out on either side of her. Quinn sighed softly, his eyes drifting shut as he relaxed into the warmth.

Nora smiled at him, then reached for her bottle of shampoo. She started to rub it into her wet hair, and felt Malavai’s eyes on her as she moved. When her hair was fully lathered, she leaned her head back and rinsed it in the tap.

She sat back up and reached out to him.

“Come here, Malavai,” she said. “Please.”

He remained where he was for a moment—he looked unsure. But then he moved towards her and she slid her hands around his chest, pulling his back against her swollen belly. She reached up and began to wet his hair and he stiffened.

“My lord?” he said, and even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew his brow was furrowed. She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, just below his ear, and felt him shiver. She smiled, pressing her face into his shoulder.

Eleanora leaned back and continued to wet his hair, and then began to rub the shampoo in. She massaged his scalp with her fingertips, moving slowly from one spot to another. Her fingers worked into the shorter hair where it met the back of his neck, and the muscles in his shoulders quivered briefly. Malavai sighed, leaning back into her touch, and when she scraped her fingernails against his skin he let out a soft noise of pleasure. She worked her way up to the crown of his head and gently tilted it backward to keep the shampoo out of his eyes. She was sure his hair was quite clean by then, but the way he was relaxing into her spurred her on. 

She was rinsing his hair and continuing to massage his head when she realized his shoulders were shaking.

“Malavai?” she said, gently gripping his arms and pulling him back against her. Her belly kept them from fitting together snugly, but she nuzzled her face into his neck and clamped her arms around his chest. She reached out tentatively with the Force, expecting him to have his mind closed. But this time, he let her in. Loss, anger, and fear overwhelmed her, and she gave him a gentle squeeze as his sorrow gripped her.

“It’s been so long,” he sobbed softly. “It’s been so long since someone touched me—since you touched me.” _Since someone had touched him without the intent to hurt him._

Eleanora was gutted. Tears filled her eyes and she felt his loneliness—she held him tighter and buried her face in his neck, pressing her lips against his freckled skin.

“I—I _missed_ you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I thought about you every day, and now that you’re with me—I—”

Malavai drew a shuddering breath. “I—I keep thinking that it’s not real. That I will wake up and you will be gone. Like you were after every dream I had about you.”

“My love,” she murmured into his neck. “I’m here. And I’m staying. I promised you, remember? I promised you I would come back.”

She felt his breath hitch, and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and another to his neck.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” she told him, her voice thick as fresh tears trailed down her face. “Malavai, I’m so sorry, I _love_ you—”

Malavai turned in her arms and leaned over her, gripped the side of her face with one hand, and kissed her like it was the last time he would ever see her. Her heart clenched as she felt his fear wash over her once more—to him, that was a very real possibility.

Eleanora returned the kiss eagerly, burying her fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair. She would show him that she was _here_ —here and real and not going anywhere.

Malavai moaned softly when she brushed his tongue with hers and ran his hand down her neck, rubbing his thumb back and forth across her skin. His hand wandered downward and his fingers gently traced her nipple, and she inhaled sharply, her body going rigid with the intensity of the pleasure.

He broke apart from her, looking chagrined. “Are you sore, my lord? I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

“No, Malavai, please,” she said, guiding his hand back to her. She couldn’t help but smile at the naked lust on his face as he palmed her swollen breast—she knew he had always been fond of her curves, but now he seemed utterly transfixed.

He tried to lean closer, but his grip on the side of the tub slipped—he caught himself, but sat back in alarm. Eleanora lowered her hand—she had been about to immobilize him with the Force to catch him. 

“My lord,” he said, “may I suggest that we relocate for the sake of safety?” 

“I think that would be prudent,” she laughed, brushing the last of her tears from her eyes.

He stood up and stepped out of the tub, then reached a hand out to her. She managed to tear her eyes away from his evident arousal and took his hand, carefully climbing out.

He handed her a towel and began drying himself off, but when Eleanora finished toweling her hair dry, he was just standing there—watching her. Malavai reached out, pulling her in for a kiss, then leaned back to look at her in the soft light. His hands moved to her breasts again, and she made a soft sound as his thumbs brushed and teased her nipples. He ran his right hand further down, over the swell of her belly. She leaned up and kissed him, and he grunted softly as he seized a handful of her hip and pulled her against him as much as he could. His erection was trapped between them and she reached down, taking him in her hand.

“ _Nora_ ,” he groaned, resting his head on her shoulder and kissing her throat as she stroked him.

“Bed,” she said as he gently bit her neck, scraping his teeth against her skin in a gesture that made her shiver in anticipation.

“Mmm,” he agreed, trailing after her as she pulled him along, desire burning low in her belly.

The moment they were on the bed, she was kissing him again, running her hands down his throat, his shoulders, the smooth planes and furrows of his chest and belly. He lay under her, gasping, shivering, moaning as her lips and teeth traced where her fingers had trailed.

“My lord,” he said, his hips arching up into her hands as she kissed down his side and took his cock in her hand. She stroked him slowly, gently as she dragged her teeth over his hip-bone and he hissed, writhing underneath her. Eleanora ran her fingers over and around the head of his cock and his eyes clenched shut as he bit his lip.

“My lord,” Malavai said again, “please—please, I want to touch you.” 

Eleanora smiled at him—how could she refuse such an earnest plea?

She lay down next to him against the pillows, allowing him to lean above her. His pupils were blown wide, his lips were swollen and parted as he gazed down at her. Malavai’s hands slowly began to explore her body—learning the new curves that he had missed as their child grew. When he lowered his head to her breast she gasped—his lips brushed against her so gently, but it felt like he had touched her with a live wire.

And then he pulled her nipple into his mouth—she cried out and clutched roughly at his still-damp hair as pleasure raced down to her core. She knew she had grown more sensitive, but _stars_ —

“Malavai,” she moaned, “I—ah!” Her thighs jerked together as his mouth worked against her, and when he began to tease and roll her other nipple, her breath came in shuddering gasps.

He made a low sound around her and she gripped his hair roughly, holding him to her.

“ _Fuck_ , Malavai, yes,” she growled, “that’s good, don’t stop—”

He exhaled sharply, blushing at her praise, pushing his hips against her—she felt the hard length of him pressing into her thigh.

Malavai slid a hand down between her legs, and he groaned again when he felt how wet she was. Eleanora gasped when his fingers slid up and down her sex, and then he released her nipple, lifting his head away. He ran his tongue along the oversensitive peak and her hips bucked—and Malavai smiled at her, his eyes hooded and dark with want. She felt her stomach flutter—it had been so long since she’d seen his smile.

But then he leaned up and away and she made a noise of protest, reaching for him—she _needed_ him, it had been torture sleeping next to him for a week, wanting him, but not being able to have him.

“Nora, you should lay on your side, it’s safer,” he murmured. She chuckled at him and allowed him to turn her as he slid a pillow under her belly.

“Did some research, my love?” she said, twisting her neck to capture his mouth as he lay against her, his chest to her back.

He made a noise of agreement into her mouth, and when he broke away his cheeks were burning.

“Yes,” he admitted as he brought his hips flush against hers, and she inhaled sharply when she felt his cock press against her ass. His lips brushed her neck, just below her ear, and she ground herself against him, eager for his touch. His hand slipped around her waist, below her belly, and traced the slick seam of her lips with maddening gentleness. Malavai began to thrust against her, sliding his cock between her thighs, teasing her with the friction. Eleanora moaned, relaxing into his touch, but she wanted him inside her.

She arched her back and canted her hips, and with his next movement Malavai slid inside her— he made a throaty sound against the side of her neck as she pressed herself back into him, taking him as deep as she could.

They moved slowly, Eleanora leaning back into him as his fingers stroked her, circling her clitoris with a light, deliberate pressure.

“Malavai,” she breathed, “ _yes_ , you feel so good, I’ve missed you so much—”

“Nora,” he moaned into her neck, slipping his other arm under her shoulder so he could take her breast in his hand.

It was almost too much, but the slowness, the intimacy, the absolute closeness she felt almost brought tears to her eyes. Malavai gasped softly with every thrust, his fingers stroking her in time with their movements.

“Malavai,” she said again, feeling herself getting close as the pleasure wound tighter and tighter, coiling low in her belly. “Yes, Malavai, _stars_ , yes—”

She felt herself begin to peak, but his slow, steady touch drew her ecstasy out—she found herself bucking, arching into him as she contracted around him. The pleasure ebbed and flowed, and then overflowed, leaving her ruined and trembling as she gasped his name, told him how good he was doing, implored him not to stop.

“Eleanora,” he cried softly, burying his face in her neck as his thrusts grew erratic, and then he pushed into her as deep as he could. She felt herself contracting again as his fingers continued to move against her clitoris, and Malavai ground himself into her as he released inside her, gripping her tightly to him.

  


* * *

  


“Malavai,” his lord’s voice called the next morning as he pulled his shirt on. “Malavai!”

He whirled, a hint of panic rising in him as he stepped out of the ‘fresher back into the bedroom. Eleanora had dressed for the day, but was kneeling on the bed, her gaze intently focused on her belly.

“My lord, is everything—”

“Come here,” she said, gesturing, “quickly.”

His brow furrowed with concern as he crawled onto the bed. She seized his hand and pulled it onto her belly, and then his heart clenched.

He felt movement under his fingers, and he stared, dumbstruck. He looked up at her, his mouth ajar, and she smiled at him. He had missed that smile—the warmth and affection and love in her face when her soft lips pulled upwards and her cheeks dimpled. And it was the reason he hadn't yet told her about what had happened to him, though he saw the concern etched in her face when she thought he wasn't looking. He didn't want to share his pain with her, to see her lovely features contorted with sorrow. 

“Come _here_ ,” she said again, and she scooted closer—and he couldn’t resist as she pulled him to her breast. He rested his cheek against her and watched in wonder as he felt their child—their son—move beneath their joined hands.

  


The movement beneath his hand was real. Eleanora was _real_. He felt his lips begin to tremble as he finally felt the comfort and warmth that he had longed for—that he had feared he would never feel again. He had nearly ruined things, nearly alienated the woman he loved more than anything, who carried their child across Wild Space to get back to him.

For years, he had wanted nothing more than this—to be held by her again.

Her fingers caressed his face, his hair—and he turned, burying his face in her chest as he began to weep.

He told her everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really the emotional conclusion to the previous one! And it spilled out onto the page just a day later, though some of the scenes (cough cough, sad bathtime) were already drafted. Poor Quinn has had a hard time coping with the trauma and really needed to let Nora in. Things won't be 100% better for him overnight, as he's come to realize--but they're moving in the right direction.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading <3


	38. Passing Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora and Quinn look for a home of their own. The former Minister of Intelligence and Quinn have a conversation. Adra pays Quinn a visit.

Eleanora awoke with a start, her heart racing. The dream clawed at her, trying to drag her in once more, but her fear made her alert and tense. Something had pursued her—her and the baby and Malavai. The details were fading rapidly, like fallen leaves in a sudden gust of wind—she reached out, trying to grasp what she could, but they danced away from her clutching fingers. But the atmosphere of the dream lingered—the faint memory of looming dread that felt somehow familiar. 

Eleanora shivered and laid one hand protectively over her belly. She had only had a few Force visions in her life, but she had remembered each one with clarity when she awoke. This was different. Surely this was just a nightmare brought on by the terrible things she had learned yesterday. The things that Malavai had suffered for her sake when she had been unable to protect him.

She looked over at Malavai, who had shifted onto his own side of the bed sometime during the night—he still hadn’t adjusted to sleeping with another person. But his hand was outstretched towards her—the back of his fingers rested against her shoulder. Eleanora reached out to him with the Force, expecting to feel an echo of the fear and pain and guilt that he had poured out to her yesterday. How he felt guilty for giving in to his insecurity, but he had been afraid that he had grown too old, that she wouldn’t want him anymore. How he was overjoyed about the baby, but feared being a father when he was barely coping with his own problems. But she held him and listened to everything, and after they talked, his emotional turbulence began to abate. He was sleeping peacefully.

She closed her hand around his, gently rubbing his wrist with her fingertips. She didn’t want to startle him—the few times she had woken him up since her return, he had flinched from her touch in fear. 

When he stirred and a soft, sleepy noise spilled from his lips, she scooted over to him and slid her arm around his shoulders. She gently pulled him towards her, urging him closer, and Malavai obeyed. In a moment his head was tucked under her chin, the roughness of his jaw prickling the skin on her chest, and his arm was slung over her waist. Eleanora began to run her fingernails along his scalp and down the back of his neck, comforted by his presence—she smiled as his breathing deepened once more into sleep. Perhaps he was finally beginning to adjust to her company after his years of solitude.

Nora frowned as she ran her fingers lightly over his shoulders and upper back—the scars were rough to the touch, and each time she brushed them anger flared in her belly. The man who had done this—beaten and tormented and disfigured her love—was dead on her father’s orders. She would have to thank him for that when she saw him and her mother today. And Lorman, the one who had imprisoned him and put him at that deranged guard’s mercy, was dead too. Eleanora’s eyes narrowed as she recalled the fear on Lorman’s face, the capillaries bursting under his sallow skin as she choked the life from him. She should have made him suffer more.

The baby stirred in her belly, and Eleanora felt her anger suddenly extinguish, as if water had been poured over an open flame. She couldn’t give in to these dark feelings—especially as she grew more and more sure that the baby was sensing her emotions through the Force. And it was enough to know that both men were gone—unable to bring harm to anyone else. It would _have_ to be.

  


* * *

  


Quinn stepped through the threshold of the fourth apartment they had toured that day and looked around, his eyes narrowing at the lurid hue of yellow that the presumably color-blind previous occupant had chosen for the walls of the common area. Eleanora turned and grinned at him.

“It’s just paint, Malavai, it can be changed,” she said. “But it _is_ awful.”

“Nora,” his lord’s mother called, “come look at the master bedroom.” Eleanora wandered off in her mother’s direction, leaving Malavai and the former Minister of Intelligence alone in the spacious living room.

Eleanora’s father was walking along the wide-paned windows, gazing out at the view of Kaas City.

“You’re tense, Major,” the man said, glancing at Quinn for a moment before returning to the view. “You’ve been as tightly wound as a spring all afternoon. This should be a happy moment for you both, surely.” The former Minister was studying him—the man must have been nearing eighty years old, but the decades had done nothing to diminish the sharp intelligence in his pale eyes.

“Sir,” Quinn said, shifting instinctively into parade rest, “I—I _am_ happy, I assure you. But there are—there have been some things that continue to trouble me,” he admitted.

“Do continue, Major,” the man said—and it was not a request. Quinn swallowed, but continued to meet the man’s piercing gaze.

“My lord—Eleanora—sent me letters over the nearly six months after she was freed from carbonite,” Quinn said. “Twenty-seven of them, in fact.”

He took a deep breath and glanced out over the city.

“I did not receive even one of them. I—I wrote her several myself, both before I was imprisoned and after my release. I expected that she might not receive them until she was closer to Imperial space, but they never reached her at all.” Quinn said, his voice tense. “I checked both of our comm units, they registered all the communications as sent successfully. And our comms _are_ exchanging messages now, but I had to transfer the missing letters manually. My sister assures me that Intelligence had no hand in it.”

The man was still watching him, so Quinn continued.

“And there have been...other things,” he said, growing more uncertain at voicing what he had less hard evidence for. But Quinn knew his lord’s father was chiefly concerned with her safety, as was he.

“I felt—I _still_ feel,” he corrected himself, “that the Empress attempted to drive a wedge between myself and my lord. I thought she might be trying to keep me here—to stop me from trying to go after Eleanora. But since my lord’s arrival, the Empress has been nothing but cooperative and respectful to her, and I—I have begun to doubt myself. Perhaps I am just seeing the spectre of the Sith lord who manipulated me for so long,” Quinn finished, his voice growing low.

“You should trust your instincts more, Major,” the former Minister of Intelligence said, his eyes fixed on Quinn’s. “My communications with Nora were also disrupted until her return. I can’t claim to know the Empress’ current motivations, but she is the only one I am aware of with a motive to ensure that Eleanora returned here instead of you going to her. The Empire would collapse within the year without the support of the Alliance.”

Quinn clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his hands, where they still rested behind his back. He heard soft footsteps behind him and turned.

“The question is,” Eleanora said, her arms crossed, “is she done, now that she has what she wants?”

“Indeed,” her father said, reaching out to rest his hand on Nora’s shoulder as she stepped between him and Quinn.

“Did you tell him about the letters?” Eleanora asked, and Quinn nodded. “We haven’t read them yet,” she said, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. Part of him wanted to read them desperately, but he was dealing with enough emotional upheaval at the moment. They would be there when he was ready to read them.

“I like this one,” Nora said, looking out over Kaas City. Quinn followed her gaze—he had been distracted enough by the conversation that he hadn’t seriously taken in the view. A small public park with a garden was in the foreground, and past that were some of the smaller shops at the outer edge of the Market District. It was one of the more secure options, having an entire floor to itself. And he recalled from his earlier research on each prospective apartment that one of the best elementary schools was within a 15 minute speeder ride.

“My lord,” Quinn said, squeezing her hand, “I think this is our best option, but I am happy with whatever choice you make. Though I must insist that we have it repainted.”

“Agreed,” Eleanora said, wrinkling her nose at the yellow walls. “It’s even worse in the sunlight.”

  


* * *

  


Vette raised her glass of wine and clinked it against Nora’s tea. Jaesa and Pierce echoed the gesture, though Pierce’s was a tumbler of whiskey that Nora was trying not to eye with envy.

“You got a room for me to stay in when I come visit?” the Twi’lek asked, smiling sweetly.

“Of course,” Nora said, “it’s got three guestrooms. Malavai is already drawing up plans for the nursery. We can move in next week.”

“Good! I’ll be sure to come bother you guys. Speaking of Captain Protocol—I’m sorry, _Major_ Protocol, where is he?” Vette said, looking around the cantina. “I thought you said he was coming.”

“He’s on his way, he had a few things he wanted to finish up,” Nora said. Quinn had been hesitant at the idea of getting together with the old crew—but had agreed to come in the end.

“Sure he did,” Vette groused, “I’ve been away, working so diligently to keep your Fleet organized and ready for action, and when I finally get back, the Emperor Consort can’t even be bothered to meet me.”

Eleanora nearly spat out her tea, then half-choked on it in her mirth. “Vette,” she laughed, “Please, I beg you, do not _ever_ let him hear you call him that. I’m afraid that he would quite literally die of mortification. And besides, I’m not an Empress, I’m the Alliance Commander.”

Vette smirked at her. “Last time I checked, Nora, you’re the one who holds the Eternal Throne. That makes you an Empress, right?”

“It’s hard to argue with that logic,” Jaesa joined in with a smile.

“And therefore, that makes _Quinn_ —”

“Hush, here he comes,” Jaesa said, slapping Vette’s arm.

“My lord,” Quinn said, sliding himself into the booth next to Eleanora. Pierce’s look was inscrutable, but he was at least not outwardly hostile. Jaesa and Vette both smiled at Quinn, though Vette’s was closer to a smirk.

“Major,” Jaesa said. “Congratulations on your new home.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said stiffly, looking around at the crew. Eleanora could feel his nervousness, and she moved her leg, pressing her thigh against his. Though a hint of pink rose in his cheeks, his posture relaxed a little.

“Vette,” Malavai said, fidgeting with the glass of whiskey Nora had ordered for him, “I—when I last saw you, I said some offensive things—I assure you I did not mean them, and I apologize—”

“Quinn,” Vette said, her eyebrows raising, “you better not be sorry, because that bullshit you spewed saved my life.” She took a long sip of her wine. “There was a time when you used to actually say things like that and mean them. But I guess we filthy aliens grew on ya, huh?” 

Quinn flushed darkly and quickly tossed back his whiskey, draining the glass.

When Nora raised an eyebrow at him, he shook his head. “I’m going to need more whiskey to deal with this,” he said, resigned, but underneath the irritation Eleanora felt his relief that Vette wasn’t actually upset. She smiled, happy that she _could_ feel his emotions—that he wasn’t keeping them from her as often.

Pierce caught the eye of the server and raised his hand, holding up two fingers. After a moment, the Nautolan set down two whiskeys in front of the big man, who pushed one of them towards Quinn.

When Quinn made a slightly incredulous face, Pierce shrugged. “I’m not gonna pretend to be sentimental, or that we’ll ever see eye to eye,” the man rumbled, “but you made it outta Imperial prison after 4 years with your limbs and sanity intact.” Quinn stiffened a little, and Nora pressed her leg against his more firmly, slipping a hand onto his thigh and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “That’s worth a drink, I think.”

Pierce clinked his cup against Quinn’s, and both men drained their glasses.

Jaesa caught Eleanora’s eye, and they exchanged a smile.

It was good to be together again.

  


* * *

  


A soft knock made Eleanora sit up in her chair, her hand instinctively curling over her belly. It was late, and they weren’t expecting anyone. Her parents had retired to their quarters earlier in the evening, she was sure they were asleep. She set down the report she had been reading.

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see a plump young woman with long blonde hair that tumbled over the shoulders of her simple servant’s clothing. It was the girl who had first shown her to her rooms when she arrived at the palace.

“Oh,” the girl said softly, her light eyes widening as she took in Eleanora. “I—I’m sorry, m’lord, I don’t mean to intrude. I just—I heard the Major was moving, and I’ve been offered a job on the other side of the city and I wanted to say goodbye. I don’t have a datapad, so I had to—”

“He’s in the shower, but he’ll be free in a few minutes,” Eleanora said. “You must be Adra. Come in, please.”

“No, no,” Adra said, and Nora could sense the girl’s fear. “I would never—please, will you just tell him thank you for me, m’lord?”

Eleanora’s heart fell a little at how much she frightened the girl. But a thought occurred to her.

“I will, but wait one moment,” Eleanora said, walking back into their quarters and picking up one of the new datapads that she had purchased to replace a few of her more worn ones. She spent so much time reviewing reports now that she had been effectively retired from the field by her pregnancy.

She returned to the door and handed the girl the datapad, and Adra looked up at her, her grey eyes hardening.

“I don’t need your charity or your pity, m’lord,” she said, drawing herself up and pushing the datapad back at her. Eleanora suppressed a smile—she liked this girl, with her pride and her temper that simmered below the surface. 

“It’s not charity, or pity,” Eleanora said, her voice firm. “Malavai told me about you.”

Adra’s pale face grew even paler, and the girl took a step back.

“No, Adra, wait— he told me what happened. I don’t know what the Empress was thinking,” Eleanora said, trying to keep the instinctive anger out of her voice, “but I do know that you visited him every Friday and ate with him. Kept him company. Talked with him after one of the loneliest times of his life. You did me a service, whether you meant to or not, and I’m merely repaying it.”

The girl was silent, but her glower began to fade and she uncrossed her arms.

“Plus, if you’re sure you won’t stay—” Adra nodded emphatically, “I’m sure he would rather be able to hear from you. He does like to worry,” Eleanora said, giving the girl a small smile. “Will you write to him?”

“I—I will. Thank you, my lord,” Adra acquiesced, tucking the datapad under one arm and turning to walk away.

When Malavai emerged from the ‘fresher half an hour later, Nora immediately pulled him into a kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist. She could still taste the whiskey on his lips, mingled with mint.

Malavai made a soft sound of surprise but returned her embrace, smiling at her when they broke apart.

“I love you,” she told him before she pulled his mouth back down to hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sleepswithvillains) if you want--I post art and snippets there.
> 
> I also added new art to the end of [Chapter 14!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245788/chapters/60169045)
> 
> <3


	39. The Devil Never Sleeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanora and Acina receive an offer of peace. Quinn and Nora spend their first night in their new home. Quinn receives unexpected guests.

The ambassador for the Republic bowed first to Acina, and then to Eleanora before the red-robed Imperial guards escorted her from the room. Eleanora took a deep breath and rubbed her hand over her belly. She felt Quinn’s eyes on her—he had been monitoring her health vigilantly as she grew closer to her due date, and state functions were apparently no exception. She gave him a small smile, more touched by his concern than annoyed by his incessant worrying.

“Well, Commander,” Acina said, leaning back in her chair, “what did you think of the Ambassador’s proposal?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Nora said, her arms crossed over her chest. “It certainly took the Republic long enough to come to their senses.”

“It would not have taken them quite so long if the Eternal Fleet had been brought to bear on them,” Acina said, arching one dark eyebrow.

Eleanora glared at the Empress, her hackles rising, but before she could respond Acina was smiling and waving her hand dismissively.

“I am only teasing, Commander,” the Empress said, but the amusement in her voice was not echoed in her bright amber eyes. Eleanora’s skin prickled into gooseflesh for a moment, but then the sensation was gone. It was not the first time she had felt a stab of unease and hostility around the Empress, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

“Major?” the Empress said, turning to Quinn.

“There is little for the Empire to gain from this treaty,” Quinn mused, “save for the resources that would be spared, of course,” he added when he caught Nora’s indignant glance. “And are we prepared to accept this at face value, or can we expect more assassins to climb down the walls?”

“There is nothing to be gained by continuing this conflict,” Jaesa said, a stern expression settling on her features. “The Ambassador’s offer was genuine, at least. I cannot read the intentions of the leaders who sent her, of course, but she came in good faith.”

“Then we must accept the peace treaty,” Eleanora said, loosening her posture and resting her palms on the table. The Empress turned to her and their eyes locked, an undercurrent of tension rippling between them. The room was silent for a few seconds, and then Acina dropped her gaze.

“I suppose we must, Commander,” the Empress said. “Though it pains me to let this opportunity pass—the Republic has never been more vulnerable.” Acina rose to her feet, her high collar adding to her already-considerable height—she towered over the seated group. “You have my agreement. We will have peace—at least for now.”

The Empress swept from the room, and Nora crossed her arms once more.

“She talks like she had another choice,” Eleanora muttered, turning to Lana and Jaesa with raised eyebrows. “If she didn’t agree I would have removed my support and the Empire would have collapsed around her. And she _knows_ it.”

One corner of Lana’s small mouth quirked upward.

“She’s been an Empress for years, and a member of the Dark Council for decades before that. Acina is not used to getting anything other than her own way. Her grousing doesn’t surprise me,” the fair-haired woman said.

“What are you smiling about?” Nora said, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Lana said, not looking particularly apologetic, “but I’ve never seen you get...puffed up like this before. It’s rather amusing.”

“Puffed up?” Eleanora said, caught between laughter and outrage. “I’m just pointing out that she holds _no_ leverage in this situation but speaks as if _she’s_ indulging _me_.” 

She turned to Quinn for backup, but he was failing to suppress a smirk, the corners of his warm blue eyes crinkling.

“My lord, forgive me,” he said, “I think what Lana is trying to say is that you are speaking like someone of your station. Someone who feels entitled to a certain degree of respect and deference.”

Eleanora’s mouth dropped open, a cold sensation splashing down her shoulders.

“You think I’m becoming _entitled_?” she asked, horror gripping her. Since her time at the Sith Academy, she had tried her hardest not to let her power go to her head—had she finally begun to fail? 

Jaesa grinned and reached over, closing her hand over Nora’s wrist. 

“No, Nora, that’s not it at all—you _should_ be reacting this way,” her former apprentice said. “You _are_ entitled to respect and deference. It’s just—we aren’t used to seeing you demand it.”

Eleanora wished, not for the first time, that she had an equivalent gesture to rolling her eyes—she settled for shaking her head in exasperation.

“There’s something about her,” Nora said, crossing her arms again, “something that makes my skin crawl. But she hasn’t made a single move against me, she’s cooperated in every way, even if she wishes I were more bloodthirsty. It just...sets me on edge.”

“Some of her past behavior has unsettled me as well,” Malavai agreed, almost managing not to blush. “But as you said, my lord, she has not made any false moves.”

Jaesa’s face grew serious.

“I don’t sense any duplicity from her, Nora,” Jaesa said, “but I don’t sense much from her generally. There’s something _dull_ about her presence in the Force, but I wouldn’t call it sinister.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Lana said, leaning back, and Eleanora nodded her agreement.

“My lord,” Malavai said, “shall I have the Ambassador sent back in?”

“Yes,” Nora said, rubbing her belly absently once more.

  


* * *

  


“Nora, you shouldn’t be lifting that, it’s much too heavy,” Quinn scolded, hurrying to snatch the packing crate from where it hung in the air.

“Malavai,” she snorted, “I’m using the _Force_ , what does it matter how heavy it is?”

“My lord, you are eight and a half months pregnant, you are _not_ supposed to exert yourself,” he said, his brows sternly pulled together. “That includes the Force. The moving droids will be here in the morning, there is no need to start loading the transport ourselves.”

Eleanora frowned, but let Malavai lower the crate to the ground.

“I just want to be in _our_ house,” she said, wrapping her arms around Malavai from behind and resting her cheek against his upper back. “I thought we’d be there already.” 

His hands closed over hers where they rested on his chest and he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“I know, my lord,” he said gently. “We will be. It’s just one more night.”

“Malavai,” she said, releasing him and then tugging him around to face her, “let’s go tonight. The bed was delivered days ago, we can take overnight bags. And everything else will be delivered tomorrow.”

Quinn furrowed his brow, giving her a doubtful look.

“I do not understand what the point would be, my lord. Surely you will be more comfortable here—”

“Please?” she asked. She could feel his confusion, his concern—but then his face softened and he leaned down to brush her cheek with his lips.

“Whatever you wish, my lord,” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.

Eleanora grinned and pulled him down to her, catching his mouth with hers.

On the transport to their apartment, Malavai was typing rapidly on his datapad, rearranging the delivery schedules for their belongings and making other logistical alterations of his plans. Eleanora nuzzled her face further onto his shoulder and moved her fingers lightly over the small bulge in her pocket.

The small box felt like it was made of lead—she was constantly aware of it, as she had been since her father had brought it to her at her request weeks ago. But she still hadn’t found the right time—and she was growing more agitated by the day. She had waited too long before and lost her opportunity. She told herself she wouldn’t make that mistake again, but here she was, still waiting for the right moment.

She’d have to carve that moment out herself.

When they arrived, Eleanora smiled as they stepped through the threshold—the walls had a fresh coat of cool grey paint instead of the former hideous yellow. Some crates were already in the common area—mission supplies, gear, and other items that hadn’t been needed for daily life.

She and Malavai carried their bags into the master bedroom, which had a few pieces of furniture, including a dark dresser and a desk. Nora smirked as she took in the large, four-post bed and the wide mirror on the wall. It would look innocent enough when the low vanity was delivered and put in front of it, but she had deliberately chosen its location. A spark of arousal ignited low in her belly— _stars_ , when she could see her feet again and actually maneuver herself with some semblance of grace, the _things_ she was going to do to Malavai in this bed. She’d make ample use of the bed posts and the mirror—make him watch as she tied him up and fucked him senseless.

Malavai must have understood the look on her face because he flushed faintly, but the corners of his lips curled upwards.

“I take it you approve, my lord?” he asked, his voice low and eyes hooded.

“Yes,” she said, setting her bags down. Part of her wanted to push him back on the bed, bare as it was, and take him right then and there—but she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted. There would be time for that later.

She pulled her sleeping clothes out of the bag, but when she turned back to Malavai, he was frowning at the console on the wall.

“Nora,” he said, “I don’t think we can stay here tonight. It appears that both the electricity and the heat will not be operational until tomorrow.”

Eleanora’s heart sank. She glanced at the bag of ingredients she had brought from the palace kitchens—so much for the romantic dinner she had planned to cook. She frowned as she looked upward and realized that the overhead lights were not, in fact, on—the room was bright, but that was due to the setting sun filtering in through the windows and skylight.

“Shall I call another taxi?” Quinn asked, reaching down to pick up his bag.

“No,” Eleanora said decidedly. “Let’s stay. It will be an adventure.”

“My lord,” he protested, “there is no heat and it is _winter_.”

“Malavai,” she said sweetly, “it’s Dromund Kaas, it doesn’t even get below freezing.”

He opened his mouth to argue further, but when he saw the stubborn set of her jaw, he sighed in resignation. He disappeared into the refresher, and after a few minutes Eleanora heard the hiss of the shower. It appeared that they did have hot water, at least.

She took the opportunity to salvage as much of the night as she could. Eleanora ordered delivery from Malavai’s favorite restaurant and set about looking in vain for the bedsheets, but it was rapidly becoming darker in the apartment as the sun went down. Suddenly an idea struck her and she slid the top off of a crate labeled ‘field camping supplies.’

She pulled out two lanterns and flicked them on, setting one on the table and one in the bedroom for Malavai when he came out. She continued to dig through the crate for anything else useful, and paused when she grabbed a handful of a neatly wrapped bedroll. Eleanora released a huff of laughter and hauled it out.

When Malavai emerged from the ‘fresher in his dark grey sleeping clothes, Eleanora led him to the table, which was set with a lantern and two containers of takeout.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for dinner,” Eleanora said, a flutter of nerves making her uncharacteristically anxious. 

The box in her pocket was consuming all of her focus—she knew what he would say— _she knew_ —but this wasn’t how she had hoped this night would turn out.

Malavai raised an eyebrow as he slid into the chair opposite her, but he smiled when he took the takeout container and opened it, finding his favorite peanut noodles inside.

They ate in companionable silence, breaking it every so often to discuss their plans for the house—and for the nursery, which was nearly set up. Eleanora smiled as Malavai grew animated in his discussion of the extensive research he had done on optimal infant sleeping arrangements. He was well into his second meta-analysis of the data on what age it was safe for infants to sleep on their bellies when Nora felt a sharp kick from her abdomen. She rubbed her hand back and forth over her stomach, reaching out with the Force to soothe their son.

When her efforts were rewarded with a second kick, she gave up, shaking her head.

“He’s already being contrary,” she said, taking another bite of her own noodles.

Malavai’s eyes shone with amusement.

“I’m afraid he gets that from you, my lord,” he said, “you are the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

Eleanora arched an eyebrow at him.

“That’s quite an accusation coming from you, Malavai. You’re not exactly pliable yourself. Except under very… _specific_ circumstances,” she amended, giving him a lascivious smile.

Nora’s smirk widened as she detected a blush on his cheeks even in the low light. _Stars_ , she loved this man. She had missed so many things about him during her long journey back to Imperial space, but these simple moments of teasing and laughter had left a void in their absence. And now she had him back.

She wanted him with her forever.

As Malavai helped her clean up, Nora realized his fingers were shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Malavai, are you alright?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes, my lord,” he said primly, “just a little cold.”

Guilt gnawed at her—she was perfectly comfortable, but now that the sun had gone down the temperature had clearly dropped below what was acceptable for humans. It was so easy to forget their biological differences. She suspected that his lack of body fat also had something to do with how sensitive he was to the cold. She embraced him and he slid his chilly hands under the back of her shirt, making her gasp and laugh.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’ll just have to keep you warm,” she murmured into his ear. He made a noise of agreement as he kissed her neck. She held the lantern while he climbed into the bed, and then set it down to undress.

“My lord,” Malavai protested through chattering teeth, “you will get cold—”

“I doubt that,” she said, gingerly lowering herself into the bed. “You told me that my body temperature is 1.2 degrees higher because of the pregnancy. That gives me what, nearly 6 degrees on you now?”

She raised her hand and used the Force to pull the zipper on the bedroll up, and Malavai fled into her arms to escape the cold. He pressed himself against her, nuzzling his face into her chest as she held him, rubbing his back. Eleanora rested her chin on the top of his head. She felt him turn his hands around, pressing the other side to her skin to warm them. 

Sudden mirth bubbled up from her breast and she laughed into his hair.

“Malavai, I _promise_ that I did not plan this.”

He lifted his head and she shivered in pleasure as the rough skin of his jaw scraped against her. He met her gaze and raised one eyebrow, clearly a little skeptical.

“I promise,” she said, “this was not at all what I intended this night to be. I was going to cook dinner, we’d share a romantic meal, spend the night in our new home together. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been so stubborn, we should have just gone back to your quarters at the palace.”

“My lord,” Quinn said, pressing a kiss to her neck, “there is _nowhere_ I would rather be.”

Eleanora blinked away the sudden tears that had gathered, and moved her fingers, using the Force to pull the small box from the pocket of her discarded pants. She caught it, and sat up a little, turning the lantern up a bit brighter. Malavai sat up as well, reluctant to part with her warmth.

“Malavai,” she said, “I—I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while. Years, in fact. I—was waiting for the right time, but—but I waited too long. And then even when I got back, things were...difficult, and that didn’t seem right either. I thought this might be the night, if I made it special, and then everything went wrong,” she said, choking a little at the intensity of the emotions that had solidified in her breast. She clutched the small box in her hands.

The soft lantern light illuminated his face, which was intensely focused on her—his brow was furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

She opened the box, revealing two pale, delicate bands of hammered metal.

“I had these made years ago. But I’m not going to wait anymore,” Eleanora said. “Malavai, will you—will you... marry me?”

She searched his eyes, which suddenly crinkled in the corners, shining with more than just the lantern’s glow.

“Nora,” he said, his voice thick, “I want nothing more. I—I would be so honored.”

Eleanora smiled, cupping his cheek with her hand and rubbing her thumb back and forth over his beauty marks. She leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to his lips—his fingers slid into her hair, cradling the back of her neck. She broke the kiss and he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes fluttering closed in contentment. She gently set the box on the nightstand.

And then a violent shiver wracked Quinn and Eleanora pulled him back into the bedroll, smiling into his hair as she held him.

“I’ll keep you warm, Malavai. Always.”

  


* * *

  


The next evening, Malavai sat at the table, adjusting the silverware so it was perfectly lined up.

Eleanora was due home any minute, and he wanted to give her the dinner she had tried for the night before. A smile spread across his face as elation filled him—to publicly declare their union, to be able to call her his _wife_. They would have to set a date after the child was born—they could discuss it tonight and then make the announcement to their families. His lip quirked upwards as he thought of Fiona's reaction to the news. Once she would have excoriated him for being a love-sick fool, but now?

The alert chime beeped as Nora approached their door—Quinn was pleased to see that his security measures were working as intended. But then the door chime rang several times, followed by the sound of a fist pounding on the metal.

He sprang to his feet and drew his blaster, then pulled up the feed of the corridor. A middle-aged woman in white armor was beating the door with her gauntleted hand, and a tall man stood behind her. He looked up into the camera, revealing a heavily scarred face. The man’s pale eyes narrowed. He touched the woman’s shoulder, then pointed up.

“Identify yourselves,” Quinn demanded through the comm, “what do you want?”

“Major Quinn!” the woman shouted, “is Eleanora in there? Do you know where she is?”

“What?” he said, his brow furrowing at the panic in the woman’s voice. He unlocked the door and the moment it slid open the woman staggered in, her chest heaving under her armor.

“We called,” she said, “no comm signals are getting through. We—we need to find her, no one has seen her for hours—”

“Who are you?” Quinn said, his blaster still raised, but his eyes did not miss the lightsabers on both of the intruders’ belts, nor the way the man’s hand lingered near his. “How do you know my lord?”

“My name is Senya,” the woman said. “I owe Eleanora a great debt—one I can never repay. But I’m here to try.” Her pale, nearly colorless eyes fixed on his, and Quinn straightened as he saw something he understood in her face—pride and devotion. The bearing of a soldier motivated by honor and duty. He holstered his blaster, and he saw the man’s hand relax.

“You think she’s in danger,” Quinn said, trying to remain rational despite the wild racing of his heart, and Senya nodded. “Why? What has happened?”

“She’s gone,” Senya said, and Quinn’s stomach clenched violently.

"What do you mean, _gone_ ," he hissed, cold numbness swelling in his chest, threatening to swallow him once more. No, no, not again, not _ever_ again—

“No one can find her. And—" she turned to the man, who had been utterly silent until now.

“I can feel a shadow of my father’s presence,” the man said, his voice low and rough. 

“It is faint, it is weak, but it is _unmistakable_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter has taken so long to get out--but here it is!
> 
> And also, uh, sorry.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for comments and kudos and questions <3
> 
> And extra thanks to SunsetofDoom and MissSpookyEyes for some brainstorming help with this chapter <3 <3


	40. No Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn puts together a rescue. Nora tries to contend with her circumstances.

“ _You_ ,” Quinn spat, and in an instant his blaster was in his hand again, trained on the man’s chest. Senya drew her lightsaber and the blue blade illuminated the room, but the scarred man who could only be Arcann made no move to defend himself. Malavai’s rage was white-hot, racing through his body and leaving no room for fear. His finger twitched on the trigger, eager to pull.

“You attacked my lord—deceived her, brutalized her, imprisoned her—stole years of her life. You hounded her across the galaxy—you nearly _destroyed_ the Empire.” Quinn stepped closer to the man, his feet moving of their own accord until the barrel of his blaster was pressed into Arcann’s pale grey robes. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Senya move, but Arcann raised his fingers at her and the movement ceased. The man’s lack of reaction only made him angrier and Quinn pushed the blaster further into the man’s chest.

“You threatened my _child_ ,” Malavai hissed, and the man’s large, scarred hand closed over the barrel of the blaster.

“Yes,” the man’s deep voice rumbled. “I did.”

Quinn stared at him, confounded—why wasn’t he denying it?

“Major,” Senya said, her voice low and tense, “we don’t have time for this. My son is here to atone for his crimes—and he is _alive_ because Eleanora showed him mercy. She spared him, after everything he did.”

Quinn rounded on her, furious.

“Just like she spared you,” Senya said, her jaw set—her pale eyes fixed on his

Malavai flinched, recoiling from the perfectly aimed blow. He stood, frozen, torn between outrage and shame. Surely this man’s offenses outweighed his own—but then he recalled Nora laying in the medbay after the transponder station, tubes protruding from her nose and mouth. He recalled the fear in her face when she awoke—the way she had cried out in her sleep from the hurt of his betrayal. 

“She needs us now—needs _you_. We need to find her,” Senya continued.

Quinn deflated, stepping away from Arcann, lowering his hand and the blaster until it hung limpy at his side. The woman was right, this was no time to indulge his own outrage for past wrongs, however deeply he had been wounded.

He holstered his blaster again and Senya extinguished her lightsaber, clipping it back on her belt. 

“Lana and Jaesa are waiting for us at the palace—searching for any leads,” Senya said.

“Let’s move out,” Quinn said.

  


* * *

  


They arrived at the palace in just a few minutes—Quinn had commandeered a taxi and broken several traffic bylaws, but they had made good time.

“Major!” Lana called, trotting towards him, her dark cloak streaming out behind her. “I take it she’s not with you.”

“No,” Quinn said grimly, his eyes fixing on Jaesa, who was kneeling, her head bowed in meditation. “What have you learned?”

“Very little,” Lana said, her small mouth pursing into a frown. “Except that Acina is gone too. I...interrogated a few servants and they all insist that she did not have any events scheduled today—she _ought_ to be in the palace. Jaesa assured me that they were telling the truth.” 

“When did you notice Eleanora was missing? When did the comms go down?” Quinn asked, checking his datapad for a signal again, but to no avail.

Jaesa rose slowly, opening her eyes and brushing her dark hair out of her face.

“I saw her before her morning meeting with the Empress—everything seemed completely normal,” Eleanora’s former apprentice said. “But when she didn’t show up for our next negotiation with the Republic ambassador—they asked for relief, they need the Fleet’s help transporting refugees—I started to worry. And that’s when we realized that the comms were down.” 

Quinn clenched his jaw and pushed down the frustration that was welling up in him. “Were you searching for her just now?”

“Yes,” Jaesa said, “our Force bond is weaker now than it used to be, after all our time apart—but I should still be able to sense her presence if she’s on Dromund Kaas. But I can’t.” Jaesa’s voice dropped a little on the final words, and Lana touched her arm gently.

“Where’s Vette? Pierce?” Quinn said—they would need every trusted person they could get—and as much as it pained him to admit it, Pierce was loyal to Eleanora, if nothing else.

“Pierce is prepping the _Fury_ for takeoff. Vette went straight to Intelligence HQ,” Jaesa said, “she wanted to figure out what was going on with the comms—she said it was more like we were being _jammed_ than an outage.”

Quinn stiffened—the thought of Vette and Fiona interacting gave him agita, though he was intensely interested in what they might have discovered there. He was eager for any hint, any clue about where Eleanora had gone. He took a deep breath— _my lord, my love, you cannot leave me again, not again, you _promised__ — 

“We should rendezvous with them—see if they’ve discovered anything. Unless you think there is anything else to uncover here?”

“No,” Lana said, “I think we’ve learned everything we could.”

Malavai didn’t know what he was expecting when he stepped into his sister’s office, but it certainly was not the sight that greeted him when he turned the corner to the command center. Fiona and Vette were huddled together over the console, each typing furiously into their respective keypads in quiet cooperation. 

“It has to be coming from _somewhere_ ,” Vette muttered.

“What does?” Quinn asked, “what have you found?”

Vette glanced at him over her shoulder, her red eyes wide with worry, but Fiona remained utterly focused on the numbers flashing by on the holoscreen.

“The comm network looks like it’s down, from the user’s end—but it’s actually a jamming signal,” Vette said, turning back to her screen. “Someone _really_ does not want us to find her.”

“And the problem _is_ ,” Fiona said, punctuating the word with a particularly violent keystroke, “that the signal’s very nature precludes the ability to pinpoint its location.”

“But it’s local,” Vette continued, “and we’ve identified the most likely locations—we’ve got a sweep started.”

Fiona leaned over the table next to her and picked up a small microphone.

“Anything?” she asked, glancing at Malavai.

“Nothing yet, Chief Quinn, but we'll find it,” a woman’s voice crackled from a black box on the table. “Revel and Drellik can find anything.” _Shortwave radio_ , Quinn thought—he had never seen one, since they were only used by criminals and hobbyists. He brushed aside the question of where exactly Fiona had gotten her hands on not one, but two of them.

“Thank you, Zas—my lord,” Fiona said, flushing a little and glaring at Malavai’s raised eyebrow. Under any other circumstances he would have seized the opportunity to tease his sister, but he was grateful to her, and to Darth Imperius. 

They had to find Eleanora.

“Pierce is readying the _Fury_ ,” Quinn said, “we’ll join the hunt. If we find the source of the signal, we may find my lord—or someone who knows where she is.”

  


* * *

  


Eleanora heard a soft, low moan—it distantly registered that it was coming from her own mouth. She turned her head slowly and tried to open her eyes, and stone walls came into focus as she blinked. Everything felt dull and quiet—something was wrong. She took a deep breath and sat up, only to realize that her wrists and feet were trapped—she pulled harder, panic pumping through her as she realized she was bound.

She lifted her head and took a shaking breath at the cold awareness that she was naked.

She huffed, reaching for the Force—and there was nothing.

“No,” she breathed, tugging harder on her restraints, and she gritted her teeth as the same suffocating helplessness that had tormented her after her capture in Zakuul came flooding back. She felt the baby stir, responding to her growing fear, and she blinked away the burning tears that stung her eyes. 

Where was she? She turned her head every way that she could, taking in the carved stone walls and the dim lighting. Long, pale tendrils of some vining plant spread across the ceiling, disappearing into the darkness of the corners.The faint odor of mildew and the stuffiness of the air made her think that she might be underground. 

“Ah,” a woman’s voice said, “you’re awake.”

A figure stepped into her range of vision—and Eleanora inhaled sharply when she recognized the calm, composed face of the Empress.

“Acina,” she slurred—her mouth and throat were so dry—“what—what are you—”

“Hush,” Acina said, “there’s no need to fuss. It will only be a few minutes longer. We’re nearly ready.”

“What the fuck is this,” Eleanora growled, tugging again at the cuffs on her wrists—her skin was beginning to chafe, but she kept moving. “Where am I? What happened?”

“You took tea with me this morning. As you always do. But today was different,” Acina said, her amber eyes gleaming in the low light. She crossed her arms, and Nora glared at her. “Passion is a virtue, but so is _patience_. Perhaps you were suspicious the first time you took tea with me, but the tenth time? The _fortieth_?”

Eleanora shuddered at the quiet triumph in the woman’s voice— and she was furious at herself for not taking her instincts more seriously. She should have known. After all she had seen of how the Sith ruled, she should have known.

She wondered where Malavai was—was he safe? 

“Oh, he’s searching for you, make no mistake,” Acina said, reading her unguarded thoughts. “But he won’t find you.”

The Empress stepped closer, and Eleanora seethed, her helplessness only feeding her fury.

“I want you to know, Wrath,” the Empress said, “that you brought this on yourself. If you had been what you _should_ be—an true servant of the Empire—we wouldn’t find ourselves in this position. But you’ve forced my hand.”

The woman was close now, close enough for Eleanora to catch the cloying scent of her perfume. Nora froze when she felt Acina’s cool hand rest on her bare belly, and the baby stirred. Terror filled Eleanora—the mad, mindless fear of an animal caught in a snare. She writhed, pulling at her bonds until they bit into her flesh. 

“Almost time,” Acina said softly.

  


* * *

  


“Malavai,” Fiona’s voice rang through the comm, “As you might have surmised, Darth Imperius and her crew just destroyed the signal jammer. It was unmanned—just programmed and left in the jungle. Try to locate the Commander’s signal now.”

Quinn felt a thrill of excitement and turned the scanner on, amplifying the search perimeter—and his heart nearly stopped when the scanner pinged repeatedly.

“It’s her,” he said to Senya and Jaesa, “it’s her signal.” He ignored Arcann—he was tolerating the man’s presence, but he didn’t need to speak to him. 

He sat up straighter in his chair, punching in the commands to locate his lord’s signal.

“Three kilometers away,” Pierce grunted, “let’s go.”

As the _Fury_ sped towards the signal, Quinn realized where they were headed—the Dark Temple. And he felt more and more unsettled the closer they got.

“Why would her captors not turn off her comm?” he asked, and Pierce and Lana turned to look at him.

“They set up the jammer,” Pierce said gruffly, “prolly figured they didn’t need to worry about it.”

“But why would they even take the chance?” Quinn said, frowning. Something wasn’t right.

As the Dark Temple came into view, Quinn pulled the _Fury_ up just short of the landing pad. The ship hovered in place as he deliberated.

“What’s the delay, Major?” Lana asked, her yellow eyes fixed on him. 

“It’s bait,” he said.  


* * *

  


Eleanora tugged on her bonds again, letting out a low cry of frustration. Her hands and wrists were slick with either sweat or blood—but she couldn’t free herself. 

She knew now that she and Acina were not alone—a shadowy figure stood just far enough away that she couldn’t identify them. Not bound as she was. A faint purple glow was slowly growing brighter around the figure, and Nora felt her fear increase with it. She had no idea what they wanted with her, but her utter vulnerability was agonizing.

But Malavai would come for her—he must have realized she was missing by now. Her friends would come—they had to.

“Don’t be so sure,” Acina said from where she leaned against a stone pillar, her arms crossed. “Listen.”

Eleanora found herself straining, closing her eyes—listening for any sound other than the faint trickle of water as it ran down the dank walls of the room.

A distant blast echoed, faintly shaking the stone walls, and Eleanora turned to Acina, her eyes wide. She barely dared to breathe.

“That was your ship,” Acina said, “your _lover’s_ ship. There is _no one_ coming for you.

“Fuck you,” Nora spat, her eyes stinging and her mouth impossibly dry. There was no way it could be true—Acina was lying. Of course she was lying.

Acina gestured to someone Eleanora couldn’t see, and a red-robed Imperial guard approached, a hypospray clutched in his raised hand. She tried to roll away, but she felt the sharp sting when he pressed it into the skin of her leg.

“I’m not cruel,” Acina said, watching Eleanora through half-closed eyes, “there’s no need for you to _feel_ everything. This wasn’t how I wanted things to happen—I was going to wait until you gave birth. But the arrival of the Tirall family has complicated matters.”

“I was able to conceal Vitiate’s presence from your former apprentice, but his child is a different matter,” Acina continued.

Eleanora stiffened. Vitiate? She’d killed him, destroyed his host—

“The Emperor has not survived for _millennia_ by keeping all his power in one host,” a low, flat voice said. She couldn’t see the speaker—he had been standing just out of sight for what seemed like hours now—but the voice was familiar. She thought back, searching her memories for the match—but her mind was growing less clear as each moment passed.

Acina stared down at Eleanora coldly, her amber eyes narrowed. "I tried to rule fairly—tried to be pragmatic, to put the people of the Empire first. And look where it got me—begging for scraps from your Alliance. Defanged. _Tame._ "

"And you think _Vitiate_ is the answer to your problems?" Eleanora asked, blinking slowly as the sedative began to take hold. "You think the monster that devoured Ziost has the best intentions for his _backup_ Empire?"

"Say what you will about Vitiate," Acina said, a spot of color appearing in each pale cheek, "but you cannot deny that the Empire was _great_ when he ruled."

"And with a new host—a young, powerful host, groomed from birth..."

_No. No, not the baby, not their baby._

The walls of the room became foggy and distant as the sedative struck her—and Nora began to slip away from herself. But Acina was still standing over her, and when the woman touched her belly again Nora tried to move, but her limbs barely responded. Eleanora turned her head as her eyes tracked movement on the other side of the room—a hooded figure entered and approached.

Acina spoke to him in an undertone, and Eleanora couldn’t understand what they were saying—everything seemed slowed down. He stepped forward and lowered his hood.

Servant One—the first half of the Emperor’s hand.

The second figure—Servant Two, it had been his strange voice that she had recognized—stepped closer, and she saw an ornate necklace cradled reverently in his hands. The gold shone in the low light—it was ancient, worn but lovingly polished—and a dark purple crystal hung in the center. Even without the Force, Eleanora could tell it was a relic of great power.

And then Servant One was standing over her. He raised an object over her body; her drugged brain vaguely registered it as a laser scalpel.

Eleanora’s eyes widened with fear, despite her torpor, and she renewed her struggle to free herself, but her limbs wouldn’t respond. Her heart was beating wildly, her fingers clenched and trembled.

She tried to speak, tried to move, tried to do anything—the baby, the _baby_ — 

Servant One lowered the scalpel to her skin.

When the blade sliced into her belly, Eleanora screamed.

And then the door flew open, purple lightning blasting it off its hinges and into Servant Two. Out of the smoke stepped a tall, familiar figure, brandishing a blaster—and three shots rang out, catching Servant One squarely in the chest. The Sith-blooded man staggered back, and the scalpel clattered to the floor.

And Malavai was there, his fingers working frantically at the cuffs on her wrists, and in a few moments her arms were free and she could _feel_ again—and Malavai was kissing her, murmuring her name, pressing his cheek to hers, but everything was still in slow motion. A flash of blonde hair that could only be Lana moved towards Servant Two, and her red lightsaber lit the dim room. Blaster fire and lightning flew past her, but all she could focus on were Malavai’s eyes, blue and wet and wild with fear.

But the flood of sensation and feeling that came from her reconnection with the Force was suddenly poisoned. Something vile, something hollow, something eager to devour was stirring. She felt the lean strength of Malavai’s arm encircle her back, and Eleanora sat up just in time to see Acina rise to her feet, the necklace clutched in one hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos. It really means a lot. You can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/sleepswithvillains)\--I'm working on a few cute holiday prompts/drawings <3
> 
> Extra thanks to Tishina for letting me borrow her delightful Darth Imperius, Zastelar, and for contributing her lines. The team will need all the help they can get to deal with this challenge!


	41. Carried Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn and company fight to save Eleanora and defeat their adversary. Eleanora is forced to contend with an unexpected situation.

Quinn braced his lord’s body as she lurched upright, but he soon realized that she was not going to stay still. She was gripping him and trying to slide her legs off the table, trying to join the fight.

“My lord,” he said, unable to tear his eyes from the incision in her abdomen and the dark blood trailing down the side of her swollen belly, “ _Nora_ , Nora, please, stay still. Let me scan you—”

“Acina,” Nora slurred, “Val—Valkorion—”

Quinn managed to peel his eyes from Nora for long enough to take in the scene—Lana and Darth Imperius were crossing blades with Acina, who was surrounded by a dark aura that was visible even to a Force-blind man like him. Both parts of the Emperor’s Hand lay unmoving on the stone floor.

“We’re not alone, my love, we have help,” he murmured, pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin, restraining her with one arm as he operated the scanner with his other hand. Her vitals were stable, and so were the baby’s—though the sedative coursing through her system had slowed her heart rate. He didn’t have the fine-tuned equipment necessary to determine how deep the incision went, but if it was deep enough to cause serious harm he would have expected a change in her vitals. All he could do was hope.

He peeled off his uniform jacket and draped it over her naked form, then returned his attention to the battle that was unfolding in the relatively small space of the chamber. A torrent of purple lightning exploded in the corner, but Darth Imperius was standing between them and Acina, a shimmering Force barrier surrounding her. Quinn had never seen her fight, and between her stature and her obvious power, he was grateful that she was on their side.

Acina’s orange lightsaber crashed against Lana’s, and the pale-haired Sith staggered backwards under her might. Nora was still stirring in his arms, still fighting weakly against his restraint even as he held the fabric of his jacket to her belly to staunch the bleeding.

“Please, be still,” he implored her, bending to press a few kisses to her face, hoping to distract her. It appeared to be working—her movements stilled and she raised one hand to his cheek, clumsily cupping his jaw with a shaking hand. Her eyelids fluttered and then settled at half-mast as she attempted to focus on his face, and she gave him a delirious smile, her teeth flashing from behind her dark lips.

“Malavai,” she said, absurdly trying to pull him into a proper kiss— _the sedative_ , he thought—but he kept one eye on the fight. His heart sank when he realized that in spite of the two Sith’s efforts against Acina, they were losing ground. Where were their reinforcements?

As if on cue, the far door shuddered and then swung open, and he sat up straighter, relief and excitement filling him—and then his arms tightened around his lord when he saw the red robes of the Imperial Guard. He raised his blaster and took aim, one arm still wrapped around Nora, and fired off several shots. The first Guard fell, but more surged forward in his place.

In a few moments, Lana and Darth Imperius were overwhelmed, obscured behind a throng of crimson figures, and suddenly Acina was there, advancing on Quinn. There was something wrong, something twisted in her face—he barely recognized the Empress he had worked with for the past half-year. He fired at her, but she deflected the shot and ripped the blaster from his hand. Then, with a casual gesture, she tore him from Nora and threw him against the wall. 

Quinn grunted as his body impacted on the stone—the breath was knocked from his lungs and he sank to the floor, stunned. A few seconds later, he became aware of a sharp pain in the back of his skull as he tried to rise. The room swam, a dizzying blur of red and purple and grey, and he collapsed on his belly, his cheek pressing into the cool flagstones of the floor.

He took several deep breaths, trying to push past the vertigo— _head injury, do not move_ —the distant, analytical part of his brain informed him with maddening calm. But he had no choice. Quinn lifted his head from the floor just in time to see Acina close her hand around Nora’s arm, and he gritted his teeth and began to crawl forward.

His lord's expression darkened as she registered what had happened, as she saw him on the floor—and then she turned to Acina, looking down at where the woman’s pale hand gripped her wrist. There was a long moment of stillness, or perhaps it was merely his warped perception—

And then Eleanora exploded in rage.

She leapt from the table, lightning bursting from her hands as she planted her feet on the floor and staggered, barely remaining upright. Acina followed, pulled off balance but refusing to let her go. His lord let out a low cry and tried to shake Acina off again, and when that failed she closed her hand over Acina’s face. Lightning seared out of Eleanora’s fingertips, and Acina _wailed_. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the room and Quinn coughed as his eyes began to water. He dragged himself towards his lord, he had to help her. As Acina recoiled and finally released Eleanora’s arm, Quinn couldn’t tear his eyes from the fresh blood running down his love’s belly.

_No, no, no._

Eleanora’s wild fury continued to spill out of her and she fell on Acina, who was still reeling and clutching at the blackened ruin of her face. A pair of Imperial Guards stepped forward, raising their pikes to interfere, but Acina swept them aside, deflecting Eleanora’s lightning with a barrier.

“No, you fools, do not damage the _host_ ,” she snarled.

Quinn’s brow furrowed, sending another wave of pain through his skull that made his guts clench. The _host_? He moved his arm, dragging himself forward.

Acina and the guards began to encircle Eleanora, who was gathering more lightning in her hands as she swayed in place. And then the flash of a blue lightsaber caught Quinn’s eye, and two figures in white pushed through the Imperial Guards. A third hulking figure that could only be Pierce followed, his blaster rifle blazing. Arcann cut down several of the red-robed figures, and Lana finally surfaced, sparring with a guard of her own. A burst of lightning in the corner told Quinn that Darth Imperius was still fighting as well.

Senya aimed a savage blow at Acina, but the Empress, even blinded, whirled to block it with her own blade.

“Father,” Arcann hissed, stepping into place beside his mother. 

He raised his lightsaber, but then Eleanora was there, and Quinn couldn’t see, what was she doing—

And then the room was filled with bright light—he could see Nora, standing with one hand around Acina’s throat and the other clamped onto Arcann’s wrist. Senya stood motionless for a moment, and then reached out to rest her hands on Eleanora’s shoulders. Something was happening—the three of them were surrounded by a pale Force aura, and the jewel around Acina’s neck was glowing a sickly purple beneath Nora’s fingers.

Acina writhed and screamed, and as she cried out Quinn could make out a second, much deeper voice—Valkorion. As the last of the Imperial Guards fell to Imperius and Lana, a blast of Force lightning erupted from Nora’s hand as she clutched the jewel.

Quinn collapsed, unable to continue any further, and he closed his eyes when the light suddenly turned blinding. In spite of his closed eyes, he felt the world spinning, and he fell into darkness.

  


* * *

  


When Quinn came to, he was aware of strong hands gripping him under his arms and the feeling of weightlessness—and a dull pain in his head. He opened his eyes to see the ceiling of the ruined temple, blinking slowly at the small, withered vines that crawled between the stones.

“So, Major, nice to finally meet you,” a voice said, and he raised his head slightly to see Darth Imperius carrying his feet. She gave him a small, impish smile, her purple eyes gleaming. A streak of dark blood ran down one green, tattooed cheek from a cut on her forehead.

Alarm surged through him and he began to struggle, causing both of the people carrying him to stop.

“Hang on,” Senya said as Darth Imperius lowered his feet to the ground. The former Zakuulian released her grip on him, then steadied him and leaned him up against the wall, where he rested until the dizziness passed.

“Nora,” he ground out, “where—”

“She’s right here,” Lana said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s alright, she’s stable.”

Quinn turned his head and saw Arcann standing a few feet behind him, carrying Nora’s limp form. She was wrapped in a white cloth that could only have been Arcann’s cloak. Quinn suppressed the instinctive discomfort that arose from seeing her in his arms, and instead gave the man a cautious nod of gratitude. Arcann’s pale eyes regarded him silently for a moment, and then he returned the gesture.

Quinn looked the other way and saw Pierce’s large figure leading the group, his rifle brandished.

“Can you walk, Major?” Senya said, “we’re nearly outside. Jaesa and your sister have the ship ready.”

“Yes—yes, I can walk,” he said, leaning away from the wall and testing out whether what he had just said was true. All he knew is that if his sister saw him being carried out of the ruins like a sack of Kaasian potatoes by her lover, he would never hear the end of it. But at least it hadn’t been Pierce carrying him, he supposed.

When they made it into the ship, Fiona was waiting, her arms crossed and brow furrowed. She approached Darth Imperius, whose face lit up at the sight of her, but Fiona’s frown deepened when she took in the cut on her face.

He heard the two of them begin to speak in low voices, and despite his curiosity his only focus was his lord. He followed Arcann into the medbay, where he helped the man lay her down on the bed. He scanned her—mild bradycardia, unsurprising considering her sedation and subsequent exertion. The baby’s signs were stable, and he nearly collapsed with relief, but sharp fingers dug into his arms and pushed him back onto the other medbay bed.

Fiona’s face hovered over him, frowning.

“Rest, Malavai,” she said, “I’ll wake you if anything changes. We’ll be back in Kaas City within the hour.”

  


* * *

  


Eleanora squeezed Quinn’s hand again, looking up at him—she gave him a brief, weak smile, but she wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to reassure more. The doctor was seated at the console, and Malavai’s mother stood over her shoulder—both women were scanning the holoscreen. She looked down at her belly—at the healed incision, shiny with new scar tissue. It looked like such a little thing now, but she was worried. But Malavai had said that if they needed to, they could safely induce labor—it was only two weeks before her due date.

Dr. Quinn shifted her pale grey eyes up to Nora, and relief filled her when the woman smiled.

“The incision went through the dermis, but not deep enough to hit anything important. The baby is fine—the sedative didn’t harm him,” she said, and Eleanora squeezed Malavai’s hand.

“But,” Dr. Quinn said, “we’d like to keep you overnight for observation, just to be safe.”

Malavai stiffened in his chair, a frown darkening his face.

“I won’t leave her—” he began, but his mother held up her hand.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to, Malavai,” she said patiently, “in fact, I was going to insist on you staying as well. It’s a minor concussion, but you’re not a young man anymore. I’d feel better if someone checked on you overnight.”

“Alright, Mother,” Malavai said, closing his eyes briefly, “thank you.”

Dr. Quinn briefly touched her son’s shoulder, and then gave Eleanora a small smile.

“I’ll have some food sent up later. Get some rest, you must be exhausted.”

When they were alone, Eleanora turned on her side and gripped Quinn’s hand tighter. She tugged on his arm and helped him into the bed, mindful of his bruises. He lay down facing her and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her as close as her swollen belly would allow.

She reached out and ran her fingers down the side of his face, tracing the freckles on his cheek. He looked so tired—his dark blue eyes were sunken in his pale face. The stress of the past few years had taken its toll on him. Eleanora’s eyes were suddenly flooded with tears, and she pushed closer, pressing his forehead and nose against his.

“Malavai, I’m so sorry—I felt something was off about Acina but I just wanted things to be normal—to be calm for once, for the baby,” she choked out, “it was foolish, I should have known—”

She suppressed a sob as she felt her paralyzing fear from the morning return—of how powerless she had felt as the scalpel came down. Malavai took a deep breath, burying his hands in her hair and pulling her closer—she buried her face in his neck. 

“She didn’t have to take me by force, all she had to do was poison my tea—and I was _helpless_ ,” she said, “I couldn’t protect the baby—couldn’t fight back.”

“Nora,” he murmured, stroking her hair, “everything is alright now, you’re safe—our son is safe. You’re not responsible for the Empress’ treachery—and she’s gone. And so is Valkorion.”

“How can we be sure?” she wept, her hand balling into a fist in his black undershirt. “I thought he was gone once—and he was just _waiting_.”

“Arcann said that his presence was gone,” Malavai said, the point of his chin pressing against the top of her head. “He also said that his father’s spirit was weakened by his defeat in Zakuul—so he and Senya are hopeful that this is the end of him.”

“I just want to live here with you and the baby,” she whispered. “Quietly.” 

She’d had enough excitement for a lifetime.

He tightened his arms around her, and the firm strength of his grip gave her some comfort.

“Then that’s what we will do, my lord,” he said into her hair, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora leaned back in her chair and resisted the urge to rub her eyes. She was so swollen and uncomfortable now that no matter how she lay down, some part of her body ached and kept her tossing and turning through the night.

“Vowrawn still isn’t back?” she said into the comm, glancing at the Ministers and Grand Moffs gathered around the table. “He was supposed to be here 35 minutes ago.”

“He’s just arrived, Commander,” Chief Quinn responded, “he should be there any moment.”

Eleanora took a deep breath and met Quinn’s eyes where he sat opposite her. The newly-appointed but rather long-winded Minister of Logistics took the opportunity to drone on about the state of various projects that Vowrawn would need to be briefed on after his return from his post abroad—where Acina had handily kept him out of the way of her scheme. Eleanora didn’t know why the man was telling her _now_ when Vowrawn himself would be here shortly, so she nodded vacantly and moved her fingers under the table. Quinn stiffened almost imperceptibly, and just the slightest touch of pink dusted his cheeks as she ran invisible fingers up his leg.

She lowered her eyelids at him and suppressed a smile. This was _much_ more interesting than the Minister’s project overview. Quinn had grown nervous about being intimate in the last weeks of her pregnancy, no matter how much she pointed out that the doctor had said it was safe. But now she was due in two days—and she had no idea how long it would be before they had another opportunity.

Eleanora turned to the Minister and nodded again, playing the attentive leader perfectly, and used her Force-touch to trace Quinn’s collarbone, running her fingers down the front of his chest. She moved her hand, dragging her fingers over his hipbone, his thigh, the sensitive skin low on his belly. He inhaled sharply and shot her a look, but dared not react more noticeably.

She glanced down the table at the other bored, waiting officials, and Darth Imperius caught her eye—and gave her a knowing smirk. Eleanora froze, letting her hand go slack under the table—her face felt hot as she hurriedly glanced back at the Minister. She wasn’t used to being caught—hopefully Malavai hadn’t noticed the exchange.

But before she could find out, the doors hissed open and Darth Vowrawn entered.

“Commander, my lords, Ministers, I _do_ apologize,” Vowrawn said, elegantly perching in the chair to Eleanora’s right. “I won’t bore you with the details, let us get down to the business you have all come here to discuss.”

“If I may, Commander?” he continued, waiting on Eleanora’s cue. He had been one of the first calls she had made after she recovered from the attack—but there were still more things that needed to be worked out.

“Please,” Eleanora said, gesturing for him to go on.

“While Acina’s betrayal has caused a disruption in governance—and no doubt shaken the faith of some of our allies, including our newly-minted treaty with the Republic—I urge you all to look at this as an opportunity. The Commander and I,” he said, nodding respectfully to Eleanora, “have already discussed some options for reform. She has my full support in these endeavors.”

Lana leaned forward, her hands clasped together on the table.

“What authority does the Commander have to institute these reforms?” she asked, and both Eleanora and Quinn turned to stare at her, bewildered. Why would Lana be objecting? Eleanora turned back to Vowrawn, but the Sith-blooded man just smiled.

“An _excellent_ question, my dear,” Vowrawn said, “and one that does need to be resolved. And I propose that we do so immediately.”

“I agree,” Lana said, and Darth Imperius nodded.

Eleanora frowned.

“By killing the Sith Empress, Commander,” Vowrawn said, “you have earned the right of consideration for succession. You need the support of two-thirds of the Dark Council.”

Eleanora’s blood ran cold. No. No, she didn’t want this, had never wanted it.

“And considering that the entirety of what remains of the Dark Council is in this room, following your recent appointment, Darth Callidus,” he said, nodding at Lana, “the vote is unanimous.”

“Long live the Empress,” Lana said, leaning back in her chair, a smile playing around her petite mouth.

“No,” Eleanora said, finally recovering enough to speak. “No, you can’t, I can’t do this—Vowrawn, this _isn’t_ what we discussed—what about the representative council, what about the civilian governors—”

“Empress,” Vowrawn said and Eleanora bristled at the address, “we _will_ take those measures, make no mistake—but you cannot change the very foundation of the Empire overnight.”

“Especially after the events of the past six years,” Lana said. “You weren’t here. You didn’t witness the slow decline—didn’t see what surrendering to a foreign power did to the people. We can still decentralize the power structure—you need only be an Empress in name—but the people need a figurehead until they adjust if we don’t want to risk civil unrest.”

Eleanora felt dread coiling in her chest, weighing down every breath. Hadn’t she done enough? Hadn’t she already paid her dues to the Empire?

She turned to Quinn, who was staring at her, a strange look on his face.

“Major Quinn?” she asked softly, wanting him to chime in with some regulation, some reason why this couldn’t be true. Wanting him to tell her she didn’t need to do this if she didn’t want to—that they could just retreat and raise their son.

“My lord,” Quinn said, holding her gaze, “long ago I told you that I was excited to see the ways in which you would shape the galaxy.” His cheeks reddened a little, and Eleanora couldn’t help but smile at the memory of him choking and stuttering at her innuendo in his office on Balmorra, all those years ago. “I know—I know that this is not what you wanted,” he said, and she knew he had sided with them from the conciliatory tone of his voice.

Eleanora slumped back in her seat, defeated.

  


* * *

  


“Nora,” Malavai began the moment she walked in the door of their home, “I _am_ sorry, but they were right—there is no other option.”

She glared at him, her hackles still raised after being forced to go along with the Dark Council’s wishes.

“Malavai, just one week ago I woke up naked and powerless, tied to a table—how can I serve as the figurehead of a government? I couldn’t protect myself, couldn’t protect the baby—how can I lead a civilization?”

“My lord,” he said sternly, standing in front of her in parade rest, “may I remind you that you are not yet ten years out from the Sith Academy, and in that time you have defeated several of the greatest threats the Empire has faced in over a century? And people are _drawn_ to you. To your leadership. Your integrity. Your mercy.” 

He took a step closer, his dark blue eyes shining with warmth and admiration. Her face softened—it was hard for her to stay angry with him when he looked at her like that.

“I was drawn to you when I first met you,” he said, “and I still am now.”

He took one more step, until he was close enough to lean down and press a slow, tender kiss to her lips—and she melted into his touch as his fingers wound into her hair. She felt the last of her anger slipping away as his lips moved against hers—as the desire for him that had been kindling all week blazed to life.

Malavai broke away and looked down at her.

“I am so proud of you,” he said softly, cupping her cheek with his free hand, the other still tangled in her hair. “And I will be so proud to call you my wife.”

Eleanora felt warmth swell in her breast—and she pulled him into another kiss, and this time she was greedy, desperate. She gently bit his lower lip and he moaned, soft and breathy as her hands fell to his waist, pulling his hips to her. She began to fumble with the buttons on his jacket, eager to feel his skin, and she felt him hesitate and pull back a little. She reached out for his emotions, taking in his affection and worry and lust.

“Nora,” he said, “I—I want you, but—”

“Malavai,” she murmured into his neck, kissing and nibbling his skin, “the doctor said it was fine—and I’m only two days away anyway.”

“My lord,” he protested, and she cut him off with a kiss, spinning him around and pinning him against the wall. She cradled the back of his head with her fingers, mindful of his nearly-healed injury, and ravished his mouth with her tongue. He made a soft noise as she took him by the throat, just tightly enough to make his arousal flare sharply through the Force.

“Major Quinn,” she said softly, “I hope you’re prepared to serve your Empress.”

His eyes widened and she smirked at him, caressing the hollow of his throat with her thumb as she continued to hold him against the wall.

“Surely you considered this?” she teased him, moving the hand from the back of his head down his body until she settled her fingers over the hardness between his legs. “That the Emperor Consort is not a _nominal_ position? That the Empress of the Sith Empire wants you to fuck her?”

Quinn’s mouth fell open and he stared at her, red-faced— she grinned at him as she felt his shock, mixed with lust and no small amount of what she could only categorize as blasphemy. She palmed him again, groping his erection and making his hips buck into her touch. She was enjoying this little bit of revenge for his siding with the Council against her. 

“Emperor _Consort_ —” he said, flushing even darker—horrified by the title—and she laughed, leaning up to kiss him again.

When he had helped her undress and removed his own uniform, Eleanora climbed into the bed. She was already wet—desperate to be touched, and when Quinn slipped his fingers between her legs she gasped. But she wanted to feel him inside her. She climbed onto her hands and knees—the only position that could possibly work with her swollen belly—and looked at him over her shoulder.

“Malavai, I want you to fuck me,” she said, and she felt his fingers ghost over the skin of her hindquarters—felt his palms slide over the swell of her ass. And then he cupped her swollen lips, slipping a finger between them—teasing first her clitoris and then her slick entrance. The friction was too wonderful to resist and she found her hips bucking backward into his hand, grinding against him.

“Nora,” he groaned, his voice low and thick with want. He fucked her with his fingers, stroking and teasing and she cried out when he curled his finger in just the right way. She was already close, she’d been thinking about fucking him all day—and suddenly he withdrew the touch. She protested, craning her head to look at him—and then she felt his cock pressing into her.

“ _Yes_ ”, she gasped as he slowly eased himself into her, “ _stars_ , Malavai.” She leaned back against him, taking his cock until he was hilted in her. She could feel his hips quivering as he forced himself to be still—he was still afraid of hurting her or the baby. Eleanora leaned forward, sliding him out until just the tip was in her, and then she rolled her ass backward, taking him deep once more.

Malavai gasped, his hips bucking into hers, and after a few more backwards thrusts from her he couldn’t stop himself. He started to fuck her, shallowly at first, but he began to pick up speed as he realized that nothing catastrophic was happening. The feeling of him inside her was utterly intoxicating—she moaned as his hips slammed against her ass, at the sound of their flesh smacking together.

She tried to reach down to touch herself, but couldn’t quite maneuver around her swollen belly—she instead moved her fingers where they rested on the bed. She cried out softly when she felt her Force-touch begin to circle her clitoris, and in a few seconds she was gasping and shuddering as Quinn’s cock filled her.

“Fuck,” she whimpered, “yes, _good boy_ , Malavai—”

He moaned, thrusting deep into her and holding himself there, grinding himself against her ass, and she came around his cock with a ragged cry. His hands were digging into the soft flesh of her hips as her muscles clamped down on him and her legs trembled and jerked. Malavai pulled himself back, sliding himself in and out once, twice more, and then he was pushing into her as he reached his peak with a low groan.

He held onto her for a few more seconds, keeping himself inside her, running his hands over her ass, her hips, her thighs—and then Nora inhaled sharply as a dull but noticeable pain shot through her lower abdomen. Quinn gasped as her muscles clamped down on him roughly, forcing his half-hard cock out of her.

She lowered herself to the bed, turning onto her side as her heart continued to race.

“I think that was a contraction,” she breathed, looking up at him in alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh this was a long one! Thanks to Tishina for her help, and for letting me borrow her Darth Imperius, Zastelar, to help save the day!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your comments and kudos--it really makes my day to hear that people are enjoying my story <3
> 
> The next chapter should come out over the holiday weekend--and hey, at least it's not a scary cliffhanger this time, right?


	42. Peace Beneath the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn takes Nora to the hospital, and receives a letter. Eleanora and Quinn meet their son.

Quinn’s heart was pounding in his chest as the transport sped towards Kaas City Hospital—Nora squeezed his hand sharply. Another contraction, but by his calculations they were nearly the same length of time apart that they had been at their penthouse. His lord rested her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed—he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, where a thin sheen of sweat had begun to gather.

“Are you in pain, my love?” he asked for the fourth time since they had left their apartment. He had researched extensively about the stages of labor, but it had been extraordinarily difficult to find information on Chiss pregnancy and childbirth. To say the Ascendancy was secretive about Chiss biology was an understatement. “I—I understand that levels of pain in early labor vary quite wildly.”

“I’m alright,” she said softly, opening her eyes to look up at him. “It’s not bad yet. Just uncomfortable.”

Quinn took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He pulled out his hand scanner again and took a reading—her vitals were stable, though her heart rate was slightly elevated.

“Malavai,” she said, smiling up at him, “that’s the ninth time you’ve scanned me in the past fifteen minutes. I’m fine—I promise.” Her voice faltered on the last word and her brows drew together, her hand squeezing his again.

He frowned—that was sooner than he was expecting. Her contractions were getting closer together.

“My lord, I—I believe it was a mistake to—to engage in—”

Eleanora let out a huff, headbutting his shoulder in exasperation. “You clearly don’t believe _me_ , Malavai—so ask Dr. Naite when we get there. She told me that as long as nothing hurt, sex was fine—”

His lord stopped mid-sentence, frowning.

“Shit,” she said softly, looking down at her lap—a dark stain was spreading across her grey leggings as her water broke. “Right in the taxi, of course.”

Malavai pressed another kiss to the top of her head, burying his nose in her silver hair. He inhaled deeply, her familiar, comforting scent serving to calm his jittery nerves just a little.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora walked up the threshold to the hospital, Quinn at her elbow, his arm insistently looped into hers despite the fact that she didn’t need help. But she would never object to him being close to her, so she gave his bicep a gentle squeeze as they moved up the ramp. She supposed she should be grateful that he had finally backed down about the hoverchair.

Dr. Quinn met them at the door and briskly placed a hand on the small of Nora’s back, guiding her through the brightly lit hallway—and patted her son’s arm, clearly picking up on his tension. “This way, Empress,” she said, a hint of a wry smile on her face.

“Please, it’s just Eleanora,” she protested as the woman ushered her into the turbolift and the doors hissed shut around them. Dr. Quinn’s grey eyes glinted with amusement, but she said nothing as she pulled out her hand scanner. A few seconds later, Dr. Quinn nodded and tucked the scanner away just as another contraction made Nora grip Malavai’s hand again.

A few seconds later the turbolift doors hissed open, and they stepped out into the hallway—and Eleanora froze, fear washing over her like a cold wave. Crimson-robed Imperial guards, at least a dozen of them, stood at attention against either wall of the long corridor. Malavai stopped, turning to her in confusion, but the chamber in the Dark Temple hung between them—it was all she could see. _The silent, impassive guards surrounding her as the Hand lowered the scalpel—she was helpless, powerless—_

That implacable animal fear filled her once more, making her heart race, and when fingers closed over her wrist she felt lightning crackle under her skin in warning. Another contraction made her knees bend as the current of pain spread downward, making her thighs tense and tremble.

“Nora,” Malavai’s voice called, as if from a great distance—but then his hands cupped her face, his thumbs gently stroked her cheeks as he spoke to her. She wasn’t being forced to come here, she wasn’t restrained—she reached for the Force and it was _there_. She could feel Malavai’s worry, his fear for her—and his love.

Eleanora took a deep, gasping breath as she returned to herself—as the last vestiges of the ritual chamber faded from the edges of her vision. But the tall red figures remained, silent and unmoving in their neat rows, so she focused on Malavai instead. He was still cradling her face in his hands, his brow furrowed, his dark blue eyes wide with worry.

“I’m—I’m alright,” she breathed, and Malavai visibly relaxed when he saw that she was with him once more. 

Dr. Quinn was staring at her in alarm, her scanner raised.

“Empress, your blood pressure is elevated—we need to get you to your room, you should lie down.”

“Ok,” Eleanora said, and Malavai looped an arm around her back as he guided her down the hallway. She felt the fear rise in her again as she passed the first pair of Imperial Guards and she reached for Malavai, gripping his free hand with both of hers.

The nearest Imperial Guards moved and she stiffened—but they lowered their pikes, pressing the blunt end into the floor, their red-masked heads bowing as she passed. She pressed her eyes closed for a moment, and then opened them, raising her head even as another contraction rippled down her abdomen. She would not show any more fear.

But when the doors to the room slid shut behind them, Eleanora sagged with relief into Malavai, who, along with his mother, guided her into the bed. Once the guards were out of sight, she was able to breathe easier—to remind herself that she wasn’t alone or helpless. Not anymore. Dr. Quinn reclined the bed so that she could rest comfortably, and then Dr. Naite entered through a side door.

“Ah, Empress!” she said brightly, rolling up her sleeves and taking the scanning unit that Dr. Quinn pushed into her hand. She ran it down Eleanora’s belly, stopping just above her pelvis for a few seconds.

“You’re cheerful today, Dr. Naite,” Eleanora huffed, gritting her teeth as her right leg cramped suddenly.

“It’s not every day that the Empress graces us with her presence—or gives birth in _my_ hospital,” the woman said, giving Nora a somewhat cheeky smile. “It’s an honor.”

“You’re about 3.7 centimeters dilated,” she said, “How far apart are the contractions? How long ago did they begin?”

“Uh,” Eleanora said, considering—”every couple of minutes, I suppose?”

“Averaging every 4.8 minutes for the past hour,” Quinn answered. “They—they began—”

Malavai glanced at his mother, his face beginning to turn red, but he soldiered on. Eleanora closed her eyes and smiled, leaning her head into his arm. He worried too much—but after everything they had been through—everything that had happened to both of them—she supposed she couldn’t blame him. 

“They—we—,” he cleared his throat, looking away to steel himself before continuing in an undertone, “we had...intercourse. I _knew_ we shouldn’t have, I _knew_ it, but—”

Dr. Naite laughed, holding up a hand to spare him any further embarrassment.

“Major, there's no reason to worry. Sex doesn't induce labor on its own—she was ready and you simply helped speed things along. If anything,” the doctor said, tossing a grin to Nora, “I think it bodes well for a child’s future when the parents are still so...passionate.”

Malavai buried his face in his hand, his cheeks flaming red, and his mother laughed softly as she handed Eleanora a crisp grey hospital gown.

  


* * *

  


Malavai completed another lap of the room. The nervous tension was driving him forward, keeping his feet moving—it had been nearly four hours and very little had changed. His research had not done much to prepare him, in truth—there simply were too many variables. Jaesa was sitting next to his lord, holding her hand, and their eyes were closed as Jaesa led her through Force meditation exercises. But every so often he heard a soft gasp, and he would snap to attention to see Nora’s eyebrows furrowed, her face contorting as fought to control her breathing.

His fingers twitched, desperate to find some way to relieve her pain—that was his duty. And he felt like such a fool for not realizing that she would react negatively to the presence of the Guards—to him it had seemed only proper that the Royal Imperial Guard protect the Empress during such a vulnerable time.

Impatience and worry roiled in his chest—was there nothing he could do for her?

“Malavai,” his mother said, and he turned in surprise—somehow he had missed her coming back into the room. It wasn’t like him to be so oblivious of his surroundings.

“You should try to get some sleep. It’s late, and things might not move along for several more hours,” she said, looking up at him.

“Mother, I won’t leave her—”

“You’re _not_ leaving her. And she will need you later—all you’re doing right now is wearing yourself out,” his mother said, reaching up to touch his arm. 

Malavai sighed, but allowed himself to be steered towards the door of the adjoining suite. When he stepped through the door, he saw Vette sitting on one of the couches, a datapad in her hands. She glanced up at Quinn, her red eyes gleaming.

“So you got sent out too, huh?” she asked. “You know, in the holos, they make this whole thing seem way more dramatic. And not nearly as long. Nobody ever shows the three hours of Force meditation.”

“Four,” he corrected, running a hand down his face and through his hair. “Any word from her parents?”

“Yeah,” Vette said, typing into her datapad, “they caught the first express transport, they’ll be here in five hours.”

“Please wake me if anything happens,” he called as he entered the bedroom.

“You got it, your majesty,” Vette chirped, and he rolled his eyes.

He settled down on the bed, not bothering to undress—he needed to be ready at a moment’s notice, and it would hardly be the first time in his life that he’d slept in uniform. But sleep eluded him.

Would she be alright? Would their son be healthy? How much longer would she have to suffer? His stomach twinged, continuing to churn with unease. He unclenched his teeth and turned over onto his side.

He pulled out his datapad, intending to review his statistical analysis of possible outcomes based on his research into Chiss biology, when a message notification popped up. He clicked it—there were several responses to the announcement messages he had sent out only a few hours ago.

Fiona wished them well, and said she would visit once her shift was over, and Darth Vowrawn sent his best. And there was a letter from Adra.

> “Dear Major Quinn,
> 
> Told you it wouldn’t be long, didn’t I? Sorry I didn’t respond to your last letter yet, I’ve been busy with my duties here. But if I know you, you’re worrying yourself sick, so maybe this will be the best time for you to hear this.
> 
> You said you’re nervous about being a father—that you’re still trying to put yourself back together. And that you’re worried you’ll fail your lord or your little one.
> 
> All I can tell you, Major, is that in the five months I’ve known you, you were more of a father to me than my own was. He sold my sister and me when I was five because he couldn’t pay his debts to some Hutt gang. And in twelve years not one person stuck their neck out for me—I was on my own.
> 
> Because of you, I have my own flat. It’s small, it’s run-down, but it’s _mine_. I bought my sister’s contract and freed her, and she lives here with me now. She’s nannying for an officer’s wife and we’ve got our eye on a bigger flat for the summer.
> 
> So stop worrying. You did alright by me, and you didn’t even know me. Your lord and little one will be lucky to have a man like you.
> 
> With love,
> 
> Adra
> 
> P.S. I love the name—sounds like he’ll be a right little gentleman.

Malavai took a deep breath, letting the datapad drop into the blankets. He was grateful to the girl, and he was touched by her words. After he had sent her that last letter, he had regretted being so open about his feelings. But though their continuing acquaintance was founded on pretense and lies, he had always found her somehow easy to be honest to. There was a frankness about her—once she had ruled him out as a threat, of course—that demanded nothing less from him. And she hadn’t made him regret it.

He sighed, burying his face in the pillow, willing himself to sleep.

After what felt like mere moments later, the door chime sounded and he awoke with a start.

The doors hissed open and Vette was there, practically vibrating with excitement.

“It’s time, Quinn. She’s asking for you.”

The words almost took his breath away—finally, something he could do for her.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora groaned and leaned forward. gripping Malavai’s arm. Her mother’s cool hand swept her damp hair out of her eyes and she released a breath, her legs trembling underneath her. There was a moment of tense silence—her bleary, tear-filled eyes caught a pale blue shape being lifted up from beneath her, into the doctor’s hands—and the doctor was rubbing the baby, giving him a hypospray. She reached out with the Force and felt her son’s presence—felt his little heart beating. And then a high, thin cry rose and Eleanora began to weep, collapsing bonelessly to the floor from where she had been squatting. She was so relieved—she had never heard a more wonderful sound.

Malavai and her mother helped her up and into the bed, but she never took her eyes off the baby as they cleaned him up. And then Dr. Quinn was pressing him into her arms, a wide smile on her lips as she murmured her congratulations. The baby felt almost unbelievably small, his skin warm against hers—she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and smiled through her tears.

He was perfect. His skin was lighter than hers—a pale, delicate blue. His little brow was furrowed and she grinned at the resemblance to his frequently-vexed father. She reached down and gently brushed his round cheek with the back of one finger—he was real, he was here. She had carried him so far, for so long—and now he was with her. Dr. Quinn and Dr. Naite had stepped away, recording data and scrubbing their hands. 

Eleanora looked up at Malavai, who was staring down in wonder, frozen in place. His mouth was open, his eyes fixed on their son—and then he caught her gaze and a tremulous smile broke across his features.

“My lord,” he breathed, his eyes bright with emotion, “I—”

And then he was leaning down to press a fierce kiss to her mouth, one hand tilting her chin up. _Stars_ , she loved him—loved the passion that simmered deep beneath his carefully controlled exterior. Eleanora let out a huff of euphoric laughter when they broke apart, and Malavai leaned his forehead against hers.

She felt the baby stirring, and his small, wet mouth was moving against her skin. Nora turned back to her son and adjusted him down, offering him her breast. He clumsily attempted to nurse, his brow still tightly drawn, making him look quite put out. She laughed again, looking up at Malavai, who was reaching towards their son. His long fingers ghosted over the baby’s head, brushing over the soft, dark strands of hair. Eleanora caught her mother’s eye and smiled—she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so happy.

“Does he have a name, Empress?” Dr. Naite asked, “for his birth records?”

Eleanora couldn’t even be bothered to protest against the title—she was too enamoured with the baby.

“Corin,” she said softly, watching his little mouth root around as he tried to latch on, “Corin Arthur Quinn.”

Her mother stiffened, and Nora gave her a wry smile.

“Surely it’s been long enough since anyone knew Father’s name—there can’t be any harm in it being his grandson’s middle name.”

“You father will be touched,” her mother said as she rose from her chair, gently touching Nora’s hair as she retreated to give them some privacy.

“Quite a stern little fellow, isn’t he?” Dr. Naite remarked as she helped Nora adjust the baby to a better angle.

Eleanora laughed, and Corin seemed to take umbrage at the sudden sound and movement—his eyes, still a bit puffy, opened to stare up at her. She let out a soft huff of delight, leaning into Malavai as her son’s unfocused gaze sought out her face.

“He has your eyes, Malavai,” she said softly.

  


* * *

  


In the early hours of the morning, Malavai leaned back in the bed, shifting his weight cautiously so as not to wake Corin. His son. _Their_ son.

Nora stirred, humming softly as she burrowed closer into his neck and he tightened the grip of his arm around her back. He suppressed a yawn, then glanced down at her and caught sight of her furrowed brow—if he was this tired, his lord must be utterly exhausted. She had labored for nearly half a day bringing their son into the world—he had merely been moral and medical support. Though the experience had certainly been harrowing for him, nonetheless.

The baby grunted, apparently still mollified from his first successful feeding nearly an hour ago. It was a soft, barely noticeable sound—but it cut to his very core. Quinn couldn’t believe it. His child was _here_ , with him—with Nora. He didn’t know how he deserved this—how this was even possible after what he had done. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and his eyes stung. He glanced out the window of their suite at the distant stars and blinked to clear his vision.

Maybe he didn’t deserve this.

But he would spend the rest of his life endeavoring to.

Malavai turned back to his child, his soon-to-be wife—his _family_ —and smiled softly.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;-;
> 
> I have so many feelings, guys. We're in the homestretch here of Helplessly Hoping--there is at least one more chapter (and a wedding!), but not many more, though it won't be the end of my writing about Nora and Quinn. Thank you so much for reading and commenting <3


	43. Belated Promise Ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made for a royal wedding. Quinn receives an unexpected surprise. Eleanora and Quinn get married <3

The sound of Corin crying woke Nora with a start—she sat up, blearily glancing at the alarm clock. 0600 hours. Nearly two hours of sleep, then—not bad. She tossed back the blanket and rolled over to the attached bassinet, reaching for her son. In a moment he was against her skin, rooting around, and then the crying ceased as he latched on to her nipple. Eleanora leaned back against the pillows, stroking Corin’s impossibly soft skin as he nursed.

She smiled at him—some part of her was shocked every time she looked at his little face, his tiny blue fingers, each a perfect miniature of her own. She had carried him for so long, and alone—the sudden sorrow that flooded her at the memory of being on Odessen made her blink away tears.

She had been without Malavai, unsure if he even lived. She brushed away her tears—it was probably just the hormones. She glanced over at his empty side of the bed and pushed away the faint longing. She knew where he was, and at exactly 0615 Malavai entered their quarters, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel. Even the lack of sleep since the birth of their son hadn’t disrupted his morning routine.

His exercise shirt and shorts were tight-fitting, and Eleanora smiled at him appreciatively as he walked over to her—but his brow was furrowed as he draped the towel over his shoulder.

“My lord, I apologize, I did not hear him cry through the monitor—”

“It’s alright—he’s just hungry. Not much you could do about that,” she said as she moved Corin to her other breast, where he began to suckle greedily. 

“You’ve barely slept,” he said, his face soft, his gaze focused on Corin as the child grunted quietly. “I’ll take him when he’s finished—and you should try to get some rest. There are an… _unfortunate_ number of visitors expected today. Apart from family, of course,” he amended.

As Corin’s tiny fist curled and uncurled around her finger, Eleanora sighed. It had only been three days since his birth, and already her newfound duties were intruding. She supposed it wasn’t all that different than if she had remained only the Alliance Commander—but this was intrusive in a different way. While Vowrawn and Lana were keeping everything running, she could only hide away with the baby for so long. 

When Malavai emerged from the ‘fresher a few minutes later, he reached for the now-sleeping baby—handling him gingerly so as not to wake him. Eleanora pressed a half-awake kiss to Malavai’s jaw, breathing in the scent of his aftershave as she rested her head against his shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

  


* * *

  


Vowrawn leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together against the red tendrils on his chin.

“I agree with Lana,” he said, breaking his long moment of thought. “The people are already enamoured with their new Empress—and once they see the holos of the little one,” he said, gesturing to Corin, who was pillowed against her breast, “they’ll be eating out of your hand. The wedding should follow within a few months, and the populace will be far more accepting of the changes we wish to make.” 

Eleanora shifted uncomfortably, gentling Corin as he began to fuss. Not for the first time, she wished that things were different. That Vowrawn had simply taken up the mantle of Emperor and let her live more quietly. She did want to marry Quinn, and while she had no objection to making their relationship official sooner rather than later, she didn’t like the idea of being so mercenary about the timing. 

Jaesa smiled softly at her, reading her like only she could.

“Nora,” Jaesa said, “I know this isn’t what you saw happening—but it _is_ what you wanted. You told me years ago that reforming the Empire was what drove you forward—it was why you threw yourself into your apprenticeship and training in spite of Baras and the state of the Sith. Civilian governors are being appointed, and the ruling council will be finalized within a week.”

Vowrawn stroked his chin spurs and smiled.

“Darth Imperius has informed me that she has no fewer than six motions to file once the full council is in session—two of which are related to the slave trade. I understand that your sister has helped her draft them,” he nodded at Quinn, “so I expect them to be as impeccable as the rest of Chief Quinn’s work.”

Malavai stood stiffly at parade rest, but his blue eyes were soft when he turned from Vowrawn to Nora. The corner of her lips twitched—he would never shrink from his duty. She supposed she shouldn’t pout about hers. And Jaesa was right—this is what she had wanted, though not how she had envisioned it happening. 

Vowrawn continued to brief her on upcoming events as the baby began to fuss—Corin settled down as she brought him to her breast.

When the door chimed, Eleanora looked up, frowning. Helena and Vector weren’t due in for another few hours. Knowing that the Imperial Guard lined the hallway did not make her feel any safer—in fact, that knowledge continued to keep her on edge. She reached out warily with the Force, and relaxed when she recognized Senya’s presence.

“Let them in,” she said, sitting up a little.

The doors hissed open and Senya stepped in, her son in her shadow, as he always was. Malavai stepped closer to Nora, his fingers moving almost imperceptibly towards his blaster—and then he caught himself. She watched his hands grip each other tightly behind his back as his jaw tightened. He couldn’t forget what Arcann had done, though the man had been instrumental in the rescue from the Dark Temple.

“Empress,” Senya said, bowing low, and Arcann mirrored her movements. There had been little time to catch up with the woman after the events of the temple—Senya and Arcann had worked tirelessly with Fiona to track down any soldiers, acolytes, and Imperial Guards that had been in Acina’s service. They had just arrived back in the city, having chased the last of Vitiate’s servants to a nearby space station.

“It’s just Eleanora here,” Nora said, smiling at the woman. 

“May I?” Senya asked, taking an uncertain step forward, and Nora nodded. The woman pulled off her gloves and approached, smiling down at Corin, the corners of her pale grey eyes crinkling. Senya brushed the back of her fingers over his cheek as he nursed.

“He’s beautiful,” the former Zakuulian knight said. “I take it he’s eating well?”

Eleanora snorted, which made Corin grunt irritably, unhappy to be disturbed. “Every other hour, it seems,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve slept for more than an hour or two at a time.”

“It will get easier once his stomach is a little bigger and he can eat more at once,” Senya said, “it was the same for me with my boys. They can be quite...demanding at this age.”

Arcann—who had remained where he was, his eyes on the floor—flushed suddenly, though whether it was from being reminded that he was once an infant in Corin’s position or because Nora was feeding him, she couldn’t be sure. She supposed being the son of Valkorion and ruling the Eternal Empire with an iron first had not put him in contact with many nursing infants, apart from his own sister. Perhaps he had been too young to even remember.

“Has there been any word on your daughter?” Eleanora asked, reaching out to clutch Senya’s hand. The woman’s fingers tightened on hers.

“She’s—she’s as well as can be expected,” Senya said, her voice faltering a little. “Still sleeping, but—they tell me that her sleep is less troubled now that—now that Valkorion is gone.”

Nora squeezed her and offered the woman a small smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Senya said thickly, “and—and thank you for allowing us to assist in his defeat. I can’t tell you how much that meant. To both of us.”

Nora gave her a rueful grin. “I wish I could say it was intentional—that it was some stroke of galactic justice. But honestly, I was completely out of touch with reality—with anything but the Force—and it told me to reach for you, so I did.”

Senya appeared lost for words, so she merely nodded, smiling.

“Senya,” Eleanora said, glancing over at Malavai, who gave her a brief nod. He didn’t approve—she knew he didn’t—but they had reached a compromise that he said he could live with. “I’d like to ask you—if you’re willing, of course—if you and Arcann will remain here. In my service.”

Senya went quite still, as did Arcann.

“My advisors and my partner both insist that the Imperial Royal Guard are necessary to protect me and my son. They’re probably right. But I don’t trust the guards—every time I see those red robes, I think of them surrounding me, holding me down—” Nora shuddered and Corin began to whimper, reacting to her fear. She folded her shirt back around herself and shifted him up into her arms to gentle him, and took a deep breath.

“I know that the ones with Acina—with Vitiate—in the Dark Temple that day are dead. But I don’t know these people. I don’t know who is beneath the masks, or if I can trust them. I need people I can rely on,” Eleanora finished, desperately hoping that Senya would say yes.

Senya bowed low, her hand over her chest, but before she could answer, Arcann fell to one knee, lowering his head.

“I—I do not understand,” his low, rough voice said. “I do not deserve such a position. I—I nearly—”

“You nearly killed me,” she said matter-of-factly, rising to her feet. “On several occasions. Threatened to kill my child.” She stepped closer, Corin gurgling contentedly in her arms. “Took things from me—from the people I love.”

She could feel Malavai’s tension boiling—feel his white-hot anger, but she kept her eyes on Arcann.

“I’ve made mistakes over the years—there are things I’ve regretted. But,” Eleanora said, standing in front of the kneeling man, “offering forgiveness to someone seeking it has never been one of them.”

She reached out and rested her fingertips on his white-clad shoulder—and he flinched. The man’s scarred face was incredulous, his pale blue eyes wide as he looked up at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Senya bring a hand to her mouth as her face crumpled.

  


* * *

  


Malavai watched with more than a little envy as Vector rocked Corin, the man’s motions practised and seemingly effortless. The baby had been fussy all day until Cipher Nine and her Joiner husband had arrived, and now he was cooing with contentment in the man’s arms. And while Nora could always soothe Corin, he cried whenever Quinn held him. Malavai took note of every movement Vector made, trying to learn what his secret was.

“So the wedding’s in just a few weeks, then?” Helena said, grinning as she watched Vector murmur soft snippets of poetry to the delighted baby. Quinn couldn’t make out the words, but he was forced to admit that the man’s low, musical speech was a pleasant enough sound.

“Yes,” Nora said, her fingers deftly plaiting the hair of her youngest niece Erina, who was sitting on the floor in front of her. “Will you stay until then?”

“Of course,” Helena said. “We wouldn’t miss it. Plus—Chief Quinn offered me my old consulting position back. I’m—I’m thinking of taking it. I’ve been away a long time.”

Malavai watched as Eleanora lit up with delight at the prospect—he knew she had missed their company a great deal. And whatever he could do to serve her—whatever he could do to bring happiness to her, he would.

“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Quinn said, watching the two older girls play some game on their datapads. He barely recognized Andronika—she had been four when he met her on Alderaan, and now she was nearly eleven. Her sharp green eyes, so like her mother’s, danced merrily as she crowed in victory over Ophelia once more.

“As do we,” Vector said, moving to stand next to Quinn. “Here, Major,” he said, and Quinn reached forward to take the baby. _Support the head, keep your hands steady_ , he told himself—but despite all his research, he felt like Corin was always aware of how nervous he was when holding him.

Sure enough, the moment Corin was in his arms he began to wail, and Malavai felt his face grow hot. But Vector smiled and reached out, gently taking Quinn’s hand and repositioning it, and suddenly Corin was resting more on his chest and shoulder than in his arms. His son’s body relaxed, more comfortable, but he was still fussing.

“Talk to him,” Vector said quietly. “It doesn’t matter what—he’s listening. Learning. We were nervous too, with Andronika—we had the Nest’s experience to draw on, but it wasn’t a substitute for holding her ourselves.” The man smiled at him, his dark eyes somehow warm, despite their apparent emptiness—and then he stepped away. 

Malavai was confounded—he was always careful when he spoke, choosing each word with precision. Between his military service and living under the Sith, he never kept a loose tongue. What could he say to an infant? He felt like a fool.

But Corin began to cry louder, and he saw Eleanora look over, her brow furrowing—the child had just eaten, he couldn’t be hungry. Malavai was sure Corin just wanted his mother. But Quinn had decades of military and tactical experience under his belt—had helped defeat Sith Lords and Republic generals and even Emperors. He _could_ handle this.

“It’s all right, Cor,” Malavai said, stroking the baby’s head, where soft strands of fine, dark hair were beginning to grow in. “You’re fine, little one. I’ve got you. Look, there’s your mother over there,” he murmured, speaking close to the baby’s ear. “Isn’t she lovely? I can’t blame you in the least for wanting to be held by her. But you’re all right here with me, aren’t you?”

He realized after a moment that Corin wasn’t crying anymore—instead his son was staring up at him, his dark blue eyes wide and serious. He felt a surge of warm excitement and satisfaction. He couldn’t help but smile.  


* * *

  
Eleanora took a deep breath as Vette helped her pull the dress on over her head. The corset was snug even without being laced, and Nora tried to move it upwards over the strapless bra as Vette started wrestling with the back paneling.

“ _Stars_ , Nora, how do you even keep these things _contained_?” Vette cursed as she tried to wrangle Nora into the corset. Eleanora began to laugh, which did not make Vette’s daunting task any easier. The Twi’lek’s nimble fingers ducked into the top of the dress, turning it back and forth until it was sitting correctly.

“It was already challenging enough before the baby,” Nora snorted. “Welcome to my world, Vette.”

“You got padding in there, right? You’re not gonna start leaking if Cor starts crying while you exchange vows?” Vette asked, pulling the laces tight.

“Yes,” Nora laughed, “I’ll probably need you to let me out at some point to feed him.”

When Vette didn’t respond with a joke, Nora turned to her—and found the red-skinned Twi’lek staring at her, her red eyes gleaming. Vette dug her fingers into Nora’s shoulders and turned her towards the large mirror in her bedroom.

“Nora, you look amazing. I’m...I’m happy for you. Hell, I’m even happy for the Emperor  
Consort, but don’t you dare tell him that.”

Nora huffed with laughter, but took her reflection in. Red had always been her color, she supposed.

“You look like an _Empress_ ," Lana said, leaning on the doorframe in her black formal robes. Jaesa stepped through next to her, also in black, but hers was an elegant cocktail dress that ended at her knee. Nora shot a glare at Lana, but the fair-haired woman shrugged, not apologetic in the least.

“Are you ready, Nora?” Vette asked, reaching up to adjust one of the pearl clasps in Nora’s hair.

“Yes,” Nora breathed, excitement bubbling up in her breast.

“Well, good,” Vette said, “we’ve got a royal wedding to attend.”

  


* * *

  


Malavai stood in the front of the hall at parade rest, his hands firmly gripping one another behind his back. His heart was racing and he desperately wanted to pace to alleviate the tension, but he was too aware of the eyes on him. Too aware that everyone in the hall was intently watching the man the Empress was about to marry.

Fiona cleared her throat and caught his eye—she took a step closer, keeping her face toward the crowd. She was smartly dressed in a black Intelligence uniform, the dark silk cloak billowing as she turned to him.

“Malavai, you look like you’re about to bolt. Calm yourself,” she admonished, but for once, her gaze was not quite as sharp as her tongue. He glared at her, trying to fight the heat rising in his face. He was not at all comfortable with this amount of attention. He took a deep breath and shifted his feet slightly, trying to affect a more relaxed posture.

But then one of the dozens of holocamera crews caught his attention and he stiffened again. Quinn turned instead to his mother, who was sitting just a few yards away with Eleanora’s parents. She smiled up at him and he took a little courage from the warmth in her face—she looked so happy. Next to her was Vector, who was holding Corin in his lap—Malavai couldn’t help the brief upturn of his lips at the sight of his son. Arcann stood at the end of the row of seats, in the new uniform of the Imperial Guard—white robes and silver armor, his face uncovered. Quinn was not as forgiving as his lord, in spite of his own past misdeeds, but he was forced to admit that the man was nothing if not dedicated. In the weeks since his assignment as Corin’s personal guard, he had not left the child’s side unless he was in Eleanora’s arms. 

Quinn glanced to his right and saw Pierce and Agent Shan standing at attention—both of them in dress uniforms, but quite clearly armed. They were far from the only security the event had—more there for the optics than anything else. Theron had arrived from Odessen only yesterday, much to his lord’s delight, but he had never cared much for the former SIS agent. Quinn accidentally caught Pierce’s eye, but before he could look away the man gave him a curt nod. Quinn was surprised, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been—the Major had been grudgingly civil since the crew’s reunion. Quinn nodded back, and then turned back to the restless crowd.

He was quite sure he was even more anxious for his lord’s appearance than they were.

He knew this was the price they would pay to serve the Empire—few of the moments that he would have preferred to be private would remain so. He had thought they might have fifteen, perhaps twenty people at their wedding. Instead, there were hundreds in person and billions would see the holophotos. He tried to ignore how his stomach lurched at that thought—but he wouldn’t give away any weakness. And truly, he could not be more honored to be here.

He heard the doors of the hall hiss open, and he turned, instinctively straightening his white dress uniform.

When his lord stepped into sight, he couldn’t tell if the crowd had fallen silent or if he had utterly taken leave of his senses—and from the way his knees momentarily weakened, he feared it was the latter. His chest felt tight—and then he realized that he had been holding his breath.

Her dark red gown was fitted perfectly around her waist, emphasizing her figure, and her hair was pinned up, leaving some silver locks tumbling down her bare shoulders. Black lace gloves wrapped up her arms and dark pearls shone in her hair and at her throat. But it was her smile that arrested him—that soft, warm one that she reserved for him. She didn’t even glance at the crowd as she approached, her glowing eyes remaining fixed on him.

It was when she stood just a few steps away that he registered that she was carrying something in her hands—a flat case.

His brow furrowed slightly—this had not been in the rehearsal. And then Darth Vowrawn appeared from behind him, and Quinn’s frown deepened.

“Major Malavai Quinn,” Vowrawn said, “in light of your decades of faithful service to the Empire, the Dark Council has appointed you to the rank of Moff.”

Malavai was stunned. He had wanted this since he first set foot in the Academy—it had been his goal, an accomplishment sure to please his father. He had been an overachiever, putting everything into his career—and then it had been derailed by Broysc’s folly at Druckenwell. This promotion was something that happened to men like Marlow—well-connected men with influential families. Not disgraced officers like him. Not men who had languished in prison for years, surrounded by criminals and scum.

But Vowrawn had taken the case from Eleanora and she lifted a dark red sash from it—it was a traditional part of a Moff’s dress uniform, but this one was matched perfectly to her dress. 

“My—my lords,” he said, “this is far too great an honor—”

“Ah, my dear Major,” Vowrawn said, his red eyes narrowing, “you forget that I have been witness to, and indeed, the beneficiary of, your heroism. I will accept no prevarication or objections on this matter, and I believe you will find the Empress just as intractable.”

Eleanora smiled up at him, looping the sash around his chest and fastening it with the gold insignia of a Moff. He watched in disbelief, but then she touched his cheek and he felt her mind brush against his as she bent the Force to serve her. He felt a brief flash of her joy—her pride—her overwhelming affection for him. She traced her thumb over his cheekbone, rubbing back and forth over the birthmarks on his face.

Quinn bowed low, his posture stiff and perfect even as his heart soared—as a dream that he had long ago laid to rest suddenly burst into reality. And even that deep pride and satisfaction paled in comparison to the reason he was here today—to be joined to his lord forever. His eyes stung at the sudden strength of his emotions, but he maintained his composure as he returned to his position next to Fiona.

As his lord turned to Vowrawn, Quinn noticed the back of her dress—the long black laces intricately crossed back and forth, trailing down over the crimson ruffles of the skirt. A desire to undo those laces, to press kisses to her bare skin struck him, only heightened by his emotional state. _Stars_ , she was beautiful. 

Fiona leaned close to him.

“Congratulations, little brother,” she said in an undertone.

“Did you know about this?” he asked her, glancing sideways long enough to quirk an eyebrow at her. 

“I did,” she said, the slightest hint of a smirk on her lips. “And I agreed with the Empress that if we told you beforehand, you would have insisted you didn’t deserve it.”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her, and instead settled for an irritated huff.

“Father would be proud, you know,” Fiona said.

Suddenly he couldn’t see anything through his tears and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but the tightness in his chest made it difficult. Nora was approaching him once more, and he swallowed thickly, collecting himself.

She reached out for his hand, and he went to her.

  


  


* * *

  


Quinn sipped his glass of whiskey, beginning to feel the pleasant warmth of mild intoxication. Vector and Helena were taking Corin for the night, so Eleanora had insisted that he have a glass or two. It was his wedding, after all, she had said, pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

He had watched Nora leave to go nurse the baby—while she was hardly shy about feeding Corin, she wanted to avoid the cameras—and his eyes had lingered once more on the corset laces on the back of her dress. While having a night to themselves meant he could enjoy the fine selection of wine and whiskey that Vowrawn had curated for the event, what he was really looking forward to was not being interrupted. He and Nora had attempted to make love on a few occasions in the three months since Corin had been born, once she had healed, but most of the time when they had to choose between intimacy and sleep, they’d had to choose sleep.

But not tonight.

A flash of red caught his eye as his wife emerged from the side room— _his wife_ , he marveled. She pulled up short to shift Corin to her other arm, gentling him as he fussed—and his heart swelled with emotion, nearly choking him. How could this be? How could she be _his_? He had spied on her, betrayed her. The image of her bruised, limp body floating in the kolto tank—where his treachery had put her—would be with him for the rest of his life. His fists clenched under the table, but then the unfamiliar weight of the ring on his finger— _her_ ring—stilled him. 

Quinn started when a hand touched his shoulder—he looked up to see his mother standing next to him, smiling. Nora was moving towards him now, walking through the sea of tables to reach him. And there was that smile from his lord again, white teeth flashing from behind her dark lips.

“There’s something soft about you with her, Malavai,” his mother said. “Something I haven’t seen in your face since you were a boy.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, and he stiffened in surprise. The last time his mother had kissed him had been when he was small enough that she’d had to bend down to do so—before his father had insisted that she _stop coddling him, the boy was too old, she’d make him _soft_ —_

“I’m so happy for you,” she said, her grey eyes squinting with the upturn of her lips.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said softly, releasing a breath that he hoped didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.

Then Nora slipped back into her seat, Corin in her arms. He reached over and ran his hand over his son’s head, stroking his soft skin. Malavai had always idolized his father, especially as a younger man—but he would learn from his father’s mistakes. Quinn leaned down and brushed his lips across Corin’s head, and Nora smiled at him, her warmth and affection palpable.

Vette sauntered towards their table, but then turned away, walking to the sound booth near the stage. Before he had time to wonder exactly what Vette was up to, Nora let out a huff of laughter and his attention was pulled back to the table.

“Look, Lana, I’m _just_ saying,” Theron moved his hands apart as he spoke, “if you asked me six years ago, before you dragged me into this...whatever this is,” he said, looking around the table, “I’d have said you were crazy. Drinking cocktails with the Dark Council, the Empress of the Sith, a Moff, and the—”

His eyes moved to where Eleanora’s father sat further down the table, and when the man raised one eyebrow, Theron hurriedly moved on.

“And, uh, you know, the former tyrant of the Eternal Empire is here on guard duty,” he finished, rubbing his hair and looking everywhere except at the former Minister of Intelligence. “Nothing about this is normal.”

“Theron, are you telling me that your life was _normal_ before this?” Lana drawled, raising her glass of wine to her lips. Eleanora laughed and Jaesa smirked at him, and Theron sighed into his drink.

And then a chime sounded, repeating at irregular intervals—and he turned to see Vette standing in front of the table, hitting her glass with a spoon. Quinn’s blood ran cold—dear _stars_ , was she about to— 

“Hey, everyone,” she said as the voices died down, “hi. Uh, you all know me. Well, ok, _some_ of you do. I don’t really have any words of wisdom. I certainly don’t know any good advice for married couples,” Vette said, her lekku swinging as she shook her head.

“But I do know Nora. She’s my best friend. My life got better the day I met her. And I don’t mean that metaphorically—I mean she took a shock collar off my neck and gave me a place to sleep that wasn’t a cage.”

Many of the nearby Imperial guests shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but everyone at the head table was still.

“And I know Quinn,” she said, her voice lowering. “Look, Captain—Moff, _sorry_ , you guys and your titles,” she muttered. “Me and you—we’ve always butted heads. I’m a normal person, and you’re, you know, insanely devoted to order and protocol and Empire. We were _never_ gonna get along.”

Laughter rang out, and Eleanora smiled up at him, her expression playful. He allowed the corner of his lip to twitch, and returned his gaze to Vette.

“But you’re even crazier about Nora than you are about your rules. You—you proved that. You refused to stop looking for her, even when it cost you everything."

Sudden images flashed through his mind—the filthy prison cell, his shattered hand—a handful of letters that he kept reverently under his thin cot. 

Quinn looked down at Nora and saw tears in her eyes, and he felt her fingers grip his leg, just above his knee. He rested his hand on top of hers.

"And after we broke her out of carbonite," Vette continued, "she never shut up about you the whole way back to Imperial space.”

Eleanora grinned at Vette, who rolled her eyes at her. Malavai wondered how many of the less-familiar guests would be scandalized by the Twi'leks open disrespect for the Empress—and was surprised to find himself simply resigned to her antics, rather than outraged.

“I wish you both the best,” Vette said, blinking rapidly as she held Nora’s gaze. “All three of you,” she amended, moving her glass towards Corin. “To Empress Eleanora and Moff Quinn.”

As the room echoed the toast, Quinn released the breath he had been holding—he had been afraid of so much worse. He wondered why she had deigned to be so merciful. He had been ready to deny that he had been moved by her words, but he found his hand clutching his lord’s tightly.

He raised their joined hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, running his thumb over the pale silver band that now adorned her finger. She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his uncharacteristically public gesture, but not at all displeased, judging by the sudden heat in her gaze.

“All right, all right, save it for the wedding night,” Vette groused as she sat back down and poured herself another glass of whiskey.

Quinn’s face grew hot and he saw Nora shoot Vette a wicked grin, but he didn’t release her hand. Instead he slipped his thumb under the lace of her glove, running it along her palm.

Her red eyes smouldered at him under her dark, heavy lashes—and suddenly he couldn’t think of anything but her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, folks. The end. Well, nearly--there is an epilogue if you go to the next chapter--the wedding night :D Smut and _very_ NSFW art.
> 
> But if that's not your cup of tea, I'll say it here--thank you all so, so much for reading, and leaving comments and kudos. And extra thanks to Tishina for reading this chapter, and for being so supportive while I wrote this. It's been a wild 8 months and I feel like I've learned a lot. I poured a lot of my heart and feelings into it, and while there are so many things I would do differently if I could, I am so sad to see it end. But it's time--Nora and Quinn are happy and it's time for me to stop tormenting them (in this universe, anyway...)
> 
> I will continue to update Love and Some Verses, and I will likely start a second companion fic of future snippets and moments, if people are interested in seeing what might be happening further down the line for Quinn and Nora. Maybe when Corin's a little older and running his dad ragged? Who knows!
> 
> And if you enjoyed Helplessly Hoping, I will be started a new fic shortly--an AU where the perfectly composed, emotionally repressed Jedi Knight Malavai Quinn finds himself tempted by a certain red-eyed, silver haired, rubenesque Sith Warrior. It's gonna be a slow-burn, fall-from-grace affair, and I am very excited about it.
> 
> Thank you all again--and if you have any final thoughts, I would _love_ to hear them. But I also encourage you to check out the epilogue, hehe.
> 
> And please find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sleepswithvillains) if you'd like to--I post snippets, WIP pieces, art, and other stuff! And I'll be posting updates about my next fic there too!


	44. The Sea and the Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora and Quinn's wedding night. Warning: VERY NSFW art. I would also recommend having read [My Lady's House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26850526/chapters/67731635) which contains some of the negotiation/buildup to this aspect of their relationship.

Eleanora laughed as they stumbled into their bedroom, Quinn’s fingers still tangled in her hair.

“My lord,” Malavai said, breaking away from her mouth just long enough to speak, “turn around, please.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, but allowed him to spin her around—and then she understood as she felt his fingers begin to work. She felt the first row of laces loosen, but his movements were slow, methodical. A sharp contrast to the desperation she had felt in his heated touches in the turbolift up to their penthouse.

She shivered as his fingers brushed the now-exposed skin of her back—as his hands reverently undid the laces, his lips ghosted across her shoulder. The gentleness of his touch made her hyperaware of every minute movement. It must have only been minutes, but it felt like hours while he pulled the strips of black satin back and forth, slowly stoking the embers burning low in her belly. She inhaled shakily as his fingers loosened the final tie, then he lifted her hair to kiss the side of her neck. Her skin prickled into gooseflesh when his teeth scraped below her ear, and she felt a current of pleasure arc down her spine.

Eleanora turned to him, gripping him by the high, starched collar of his dress uniform and pulled him into a brutal kiss.

“Undress,” she told him when they broke apart, and he flushed, his fingers immediately moving to obey.

He moved to the other side of the bed to give her room to step out of the dress, and in a moment she slung the dark red gown over a chair. But the laces caught her eye—and she glanced over at Malavai. She watched him remove the red sash, then start with the buttons of his collar. Arousal coursed through her as he loosened his belt, then stripped off his jacket in front of the mirror—the lean muscle of his torso was visible through the thin dress undershirt.

She wanted him desperately. And she would have him.

  


* * *

  


Malavai pulled his undershirt off over his head and turned to fold it on his pile of clothes, and froze when he saw his lord approaching in the large mirror on their bedroom wall. She was naked, her hair loose and falling around her shoulders—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from what she held in her hands.

He had been half-hard already, but when his lord looped her hands around his chest from behind, draping the silk laces across his skin, he grew harder and he blushed at the sight. It was a silent question—she made no move yet. _Stars_ , it had been so long—so long since she had done this for him. Before he lost her, before he went to prison—

" _Please_ , my lord,” he said, turning and dropping to his knees in front of her. He leaned his head against her thigh in supplication, pressing a kiss to the soft skin there.

Eleanora smiled at him, slipping smoothly into her role and kneeling behind him, pulling his wrists into position.

Malavai shivered as she gently looped the laces down his arms, her fingernails scraping his skin—and when his arms were bound, she lashed his wrists behind him. He felt her fingers slip under every knot, caressing his skin—and then he felt her teeth on his neck, biting and then kissing. He gasped softly as she wrapped the silk ties over his chest, across his belly—around his thighs. He watched her in the mirror—the focus and concentration on her face was nearly as arousing as her lust. And then he made a soft, choked noise of surprise as she reached lower, looping a tie around the most sensitive parts on his body.

“My lord,” he breathed, his cock twitching as her fingers checked the knot.

“To help you obey me,” she smirked, gently tugging on the tie and pushing him onto his back. “You do remember the rules, Moff Quinn?” she asked, her hand loosely encircling his throat. “That you may not come without my permission?”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, feeling his cheeks burn even as a fresh wave of desire rippled through him. He lay obediently beneath her, drinking in the sight of her soft curves, the red glow of her eyes as she leaned over him.

“Good,” she breathed, her lips against his skin. He gasped when the soft kisses she was pressing to his throat suddenly turned rough, and his hips bucked upward when she left a love-bite on his chest.

His lord reached down and ran her fingers over his cock, drawing a ragged breath from him, and then she was kissing his ribs, his belly, his hip-bone. She worried at his flesh with teeth and tongue, and he was straining beneath her, the pleasure and pain mixing in a way that made coherent thought nearly impossible. When she sank her teeth into his thigh, he moaned so loudly that he flushed in shame—he shuddered and gasped, his hips beginning to buck upwards. He felt her fingers close around his cock as her teeth sank deeper, and Quinn cried out as the gentle, feather-light touches warred with the sharp sting of the bite. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to come just from this, and he needed to obey—needed his lord to be pleased with him.

Eleanora released him and soothed his skin with her tongue, then sat him up roughly until he was resting on his knees. She turned him to face the mirror and grabbed his jaw—and if he wasn’t already on his knees, he might have fallen to them when he saw the desire on her face—felt the raw power of the woman whose mercy he was at. But his lord was always merciful to him—even after all the years they spent apart, he knew that.

“Look at yourself,” she told him, and he obeyed. His body was wrapped elegantly in the ties, his chest and face flushed—and his cock bobbed between his legs, fluid already dripping from the tip. Love-bites were scattered across his chest and hips—marks of his lord’s possession of him. He felt a thrill of arousal when he saw the large, dark bite mark on his thigh. “Look how pretty you are for me.”

He flushed darker, gasping as she took the base of his cock in her fingers and languidly began to stroke him. He could feel his orgasm impending—he had wanted her for weeks, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to last, but he needed to obey. He _must_. 

“What a good boy you are,” she whispered, and suddenly he was thrusting helplessly into her hand, the burning pleasure low in his belly coiling tighter, he was moaning—and suddenly she released him, his cock throbbing and twitching as he reeled back from the edge, the muscles in his stomach clenching wildly.

He gasped, his head lolling forward as he tried to recover himself—as his cock strained fruitlessly in the air.

And then his lord leaned close to him, pressing herself against his shoulder—he moaned softly as her breasts pushed against him. He had been eyeing them for weeks whenever he had glimpsed her uncovered—which had been frustratingly often. He hadn’t wanted to paw at her while she was feeding their son, but now—the softness, the way her dark blue nipples were hardened with her arousal was nearly enough to drive him mad.

When her hand seized his cock again and began to stroke him, he threw his head back, biting his lip—he couldn’t take more teasing, he was _sure_ he couldn’t.

  


* * *

By the time Eleanora drove Quinn to the edge three more times, just to deny him, he was nearly weeping. He buried his face in her shoulder as he rutted into her hand, his cock so swollen and oversensitive that each movement, no matter how slight, drew a soft, needy sound from him. Eleanora shuddered, her desire so strong that it took everything in her power not to just take him.

“Please,” he begged, all shame and propriety forgotten in his desperate need. “Please, my lord.”

Eleanora climbed into his lap, unable to hold out against his pleading—he had done so well. She was so slick, so ready—and she inhaled sharply when she sank down on his cock. Malavai cried out and writhed beneath her—and she sensed his despair when he realized that he couldn’t thrust up into her. Not as he was, resting on his knees with her thighs on either side of his.

She smirked at him, at his kiss-swollen lips, his flushed cheeks, his salt-and-pepper hair disheveled. At his dark blue, half-lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal.

“My beautiful husband,” she murmured, dropping the act to press a tender kiss to his lips—a kiss that he returned eagerly, his body tense and straining beneath her.

But as he futiley tried to fuck her, his legs jerking and twitching beneath her, she decided that she wasn’t quite done with him after all.

She broke away from his mouth and reached between her legs. She gasped softly as she began to stroke her swollen sex, and Malavai groaned as he watched, unable to move. Eleanora touched herself languidly, as if she had all the time in the world—as if she wasn’t impaled on the cock of a man who was trembling uncontrollably with need. Her fingers circled her clitoris and she leaned her head back, her back arching in pleasure.

Malavai was panting now, gasping with every movement, begging, pleading.

“My lord, please, I—I can’t—”

“You may come after your Empress does,” she said, trying to keep her voice from hitching as she neared her peak. She could feel how close he was—how frantic she had made him. After one, two more strokes of her fingers the pleasure in her core tightened, electrified—and she came on his cock, listening to his gasps and incoherent pleas as her legs trembled around his—as her muscles clamped down on him, squeezing and fluttering.

When Eleanora could think again, she reached below and released the tie between his legs, and she raised herself up, holding his shoulders as she began to ride his cock. She was hypersensitive from her orgasm, and every time he filled her, her nails dug into his shoulders as she moaned.

“Come for me,” she said softly, and he buried his head in her chest as he let go, shuddering and moaning as he spilled himself inside her. She grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand and circled his shoulders with the other, holding him close.

When his trembling finally stilled, Eleanora leaned back, suddenly aware that her skin was wet—had she made him cry?

She burst out laughing when she saw what had happened—the white droplets of milk all over their skin—but was unwilling to extricate herself just yet. She settled for giggling into Malavai’s shoulder as she reached behind him to loosen his bonds.

“I’d read that was a possibility,” he murmured absently as his arms, still wrapped loosely in the ties, moved to encircle her. As he rested his head on her breast, she made out a few more muffled words—oxytocin, crossed signals—and she tousled his hair with her fingernails. She reached out for his emotions—he was still too dazed, too utterly sated to even care what a mess they were. She was giddy, weak and trembling at how his trust in her endured so powerfully that he could still surrender like this. They’d need to clean up soon—but as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, she found she had absolutely no interest in being anywhere but there.

  


* * *

  


Eleanora woke up slowly, aware of Malavai’s arms around her. She smiled, turning towards him, and then winced as she realized she was leaking—she needed to feed Corin, where was he—and then she remembered. He was safe, she didn’t need to worry—though she felt a physical ache at his absence. But he would be back soon, she told herself. She could focus on the man in bed with her—her husband, she thought with a smile.

Malavai stirred as she ran her fingers down his chest—as she pressed kisses to the bruises her mouth had made on his pale, freckled skin last night. He made a soft, contented sound, and then gasped when she nipped his neck. One long-fingered hand slid over her belly, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel his arousal pressing into her thigh.

“Corin?” he murmured sleepily, half-awake, his hand reaching up to palm her breast.

Her breath hitched as his thumb brushed her nipple—he clearly hadn’t been too put off by their mishap last night, she thought with a smile—and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Vector and Helena have him until noon,” she replied, looping her arm around his back and pulling him into her arms. He lay his familiar weight on top of her, burying his face in her neck. She inhaled sharply as the stubble of his jaw, even rougher since he hadn’t shaved yet, scraped against her throat.

“Malavai,” she said softly, gripping his hair in one hand and the firm muscle of his lower back in the other, pulling him as close as he could be—until she could feel his heart pounding against hers.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, this was just too much fun. I love these two so much. <3 <3 <3
> 
> And as always, the titles in part 2 have all been Iron and Wine songs (and if you're familiar with them, I got a little cheeky/on the nose with this one, haha!)


End file.
